


FILE: SALVAGED

by ShadowcrestNightingale



Series: The Subconscious Files [5]
Category: Id:Invaded (Anime)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, Face-Lifter, Foundations, Gen, Id wells, Mental Health Issues, Mental Instability, Mizuhanome, Murder, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Psychological Trauma, Serial Killers, Subconscious, The Kura's startup, Trauma, first case, homicide detectives, john walker - Freeform
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-01
Updated: 2021-03-09
Packaged: 2021-03-10 20:34:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 12
Words: 38,322
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28483224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShadowcrestNightingale/pseuds/ShadowcrestNightingale
Summary: It's the year 2018, the Kura is about to launch and the newly promoted Director Momoki brings on their first recruit, transferring Narihisago from the prison he's been confined to for the two years since he pleaded guilty to murdering the Challenger. Momoki's effort to salvage the connection with his old partner becomes monumental when Narihisago's tattered mental state comes to light. Everyone has their work cut out for them. Adjusting to the Mizuhanome proves less like playing a video game than the Wellside crew were told as they work their first case—the brutal drive of the Face-lifter. Before long the staff learns what it's like to work with a killer to catch a killer.Canon compatible, expanding off the world in the same feel as the episodes, filling in gaps. Utilizes some content from a couple paragraphs from ID: REMEMBERED by Ōtarō MaijōMAJOR TRIGGER WARNING: If psychological disorders and suicide are triggers, DO NOT read! ID: Invaded gets heavy into this and I am writing to the feel of the series.
Series: The Subconscious Files [5]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1869256
Comments: 184
Kudos: 21





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Accuracy note: I try to put as much research as possible into anything real I reference. In this case I did indeed note that the standard guards in a traditional prison would not have been wielding firearms. However in writing it became too strong of a plot point to let that detail stand in the way, so ... in this story here they are carrying for the impact of the scene. To put it succinctly; I am aware of the inaccuracy, I hope it doesn't stand in the way of the enjoyment of the story.

_ **** _

_Cover Artwork by me_

_ **Chapter 1** _

_**~Narihisago~** _

There is a world out there beyond this narrow chamber I exist in, of that I am **well** aware.

In the corners of my mind I vaguely remember bright blue skies, fragrant breezes against my skin, conversations with colleagues over hearty meals. Those all remain irrevocably out of my reach. Now my whole universe is a locked box only six by eleven feet, not that I knew the measurements of my sparse cell for certain … it was an estimate by rough measurements compared to my known height against each confining wall. The world outside remains unaware of my continued existence, moves on without me. I get rare glimpses of it now and again, when the guards open the solid metal door and cuff me, taking me in a slow controlled head-down shuffle to the visitors room. Only one person ever comes … and it's been awhile since I've had a reprieve from this endless solitude. So long that I've lost track of the interval. Not that it's any real surprise that happened. Time doesn't matter in this windowless cell where every day is the same monotony. Besides, why would he continue to care about me?

This isolated hell is the rest of my life now. I have accepted that.

My eyes stare at the same four walls I have seen for what must be close to two years, now if my count was anywhere near accurate. They had been bare, painted a mockingly cheery yellow, when I was transferred to this cell after the commotion I'd caused earning me permanent isolation. My fist tightened resting on my knee, at just the thought of it my jaw clenched.

I didn't need a cell to hold me captive … I am a prisoner of my own madness.

Killers! I hated them with a passion, so deep I swore my nails were cutting into the palm of my hand. Yet, here I was locked up in prison—one of **them**. An abhorrence so volatile that even against the rules and subjected to punishment by the guards for the action each time I carried it out, I had set the word into the walls of my cell over two dozen times: _Murderer_.

That inescapable word scalded me. Reminded me. Punished me for what I had become.

It was against protocol for a prisoner to undo even a single button on their prison issued brown jumpsuit. No rolling up the sleeves or pant legs regardless of how hot it blazed in the summer months—and we'd just mercifully passed a grueling heat spell—a momentary respite before the biting chill of winter. We weren't given anything additional for warmth then either. There were no comforts in this prison, no air conditioning, no heat, no dignity. Forced to sleep on the floor like a mongrel. In a way the jumpsuit's coverage was good. I didn't want to show anyone what I had done. Even now I was vaguely aware of my hand traveling inside my jumpsuit, my nails digging deep into my chest. A response to the periodic echoes plaguing me. I had felt them stirring the moment the lights went on this morning, all through the ghastly diet I had been subsisting on since being unceremoniously flung in here. Certainly it was on purpose, meant to make us yearn for normalcy again, this insult to a traditional diet—tofu mixed with pork into some semblance of a main course. Instead of rice they had the audacity to only offer barley. If I'd had enough sensibilities left I might have tried a hunger strike. But something about me always relented, complying as much as I could.

I had no cause to make willful problems. Tendencies I had no control over made enough trouble. Shuddering, I dug my nails in deeper trying in vain to stop the welling storm building in my head. Inflicted pain somehow had an effect … I had no idea why though.

Where was this coming from? Why couldn't I keep a grip on myself? I knew what was coming, and I dreaded the moment my tenuous grip slipped.

A tear trembled in the corner of my eye. It was humanly impossible for anyone to detest more what I had become! My eyes focused on my writing on the wall. _Murderer._

Voices penetrated the door. Though thick, the doors weren't soundproof, mainly so the guards could hear what we were doing. Not much of an issue in the communal blocks where I had started out. Their days were so regimented they had little time to themselves. But where I was now … yeah, well, those of us designated to _this_ ward didn't get to leave to go to a workshop for the distraction of a job for hours on end. No. We were deemed too unstable. Not that I blamed the prison for their decision … I **had** assaulted several inmates, all convicted murderers. One of them was now permanently confined to this same ward because of his injuries.

Probably what lead to me being declared criminally insane. I really couldn't argue that one.

For now, unless I had a visitor, my only connection was the guards on the other side of my door. They rarely had reason to interact with me, sticking stuff through the food tray slot without a word was the typical extent. In the rare stimulation, I craned my head to listen to the distraction of their muffled voices. Maybe it would help to deflect the inner storm.

“Are you kidding me? Already? I thought she'd been born just last year.”

“Haha, nope. Isn't this a great photo of her? Took it yesterday. Her first dance with a boy. Not sure who was more embarrassed. Look at them, they're both blushing for the camera.”

“You have the perfect little sweetheart.”

A first dance. My eyes clenched tight, the echoes pounding harder even as I clawed ineffectively at my side. The distraction wasn't helping. The waves crashing against me gaining strength. Muku—she hadn't been much for dresses. But I remembered that school dance, a rare exception. She'd been so excited, gone with a number of her girl friends in a group. She'd spent hours on her hair, though I swear it looked the same as always. I should have known better not to say that when she'd asked me. I'd deserved her tirade. Moments later I was saved by the doorbell. Her eyes brimmed with joy as her friends arrived at the apartment … my little girl was growing up.

She **should** have been **able** to grow up!

It flashed before me—her battered body laid out on the table in the morgue, barely recognizable. The vision seared behind my eyes, a sharp pain as though a blade slicing through my temple stole my breath. I fell over on my side, hands gripping the strands of my overgrown hair. I pulled hard!

The tactic failed. The agony battered me again and again, as if the Challenger's own fists assaulted my brain. I had killed him! Incarceration for him **never** would have been enough! He had to experience what he had done! I had filled his body so full of lead there was no chance he could come back. An entire mag and I had fully intended to use a second! My knuckles nearly cracked from the tension as I gripped my head and growled, baring my teeth.

Slice!

It echoed off the walls, a sound of someone in excruciating pain. A scream I distantly realized—rent from my own throat.

I had to stop this before it tore me apart. End the pain, end the suffering. I didn't deserve to exist anymore, not even imprisoned. I was a murderer!

Drawing my head back I drove it into the wall—hard. The pain of the jarring impact couldn't compete with what was already inside my skull. Blood spattered the wall as I drew my head back again for a second strike.

I had to stop the pain, only way out—beating myself senseless.

The second strike built upon the first penetrating the agony, morphing the pain, making it my own.

The door squealed on its hinges. I turned, the horizon pitched forcing me to brace my hand against the wall for balance. Hot blood dripped down my forehead tracing a path along the side of my nose as I gasped each harsh breath through clenched teeth. I could only imagine the savage I looked like, bleeding and snarling like a deranged dog. A couple guards rushed in, one brandished a gun.

With a howl of rage I flung myself at him, my knee rammed into his gut doubling him over as I wrenched the gun from his limp hand. The moment I had the weapon I staggered backward.

What the hell was I even doing? I wouldn't make it out of this cell. They had the door blocked. I realized grimly that wasn't even my goal. A degenerate like me didn't belong in the outside world, a threat to everyone—even myself. I may have been crazy, but I wasn't a fool.

I didn't deserve life.

My eyes flicked to the gun. My finger rode outside the trigger guard, a safety lesson drilled into my head from by-gone days. It wouldn't budge, refused to touch the trigger itself.

I couldn't do it. I couldn't take my own life. Suicide—the mere thought of it—no! I can't! If I did I would stand no chance of seeing _them_ ever again. Was that even possible now? My hands shook violently even as I aimed the gun at the second guard who now held his firearm trained on me, shock in his eyes. He froze.

I couldn't hold the gun up. The muzzle kept falling in my trembling grip as I panted. This man was innocent. He was just doing his job. This wasn't right. This wasn't me. I didn't want to do this, but this existence … it hurt too much to bear. I couldn't protect them … I failed to protect my family. I was a despicable failure. Blood coursed near my eyes threatening to blind me. I had to release one clammy hand to wipe it away.

Do it, I willed him. Pull the damn trigger. Put me out of this damned misery!

I wanted to say it, to shout those words … but through the fight to get enough air against the slicing in my skull I couldn't muster enough to speak a single coherent word. All I could manage was a savage growling.

Inside my head it flared again, a searing agony blinding me with a flash of white light. If I had been struck by a bolt of lightening I'm convinced it would have hurt less. The gun clattered on the floor as I staggered back against the wall, wailing out. The next thing I knew, the guards collided with me, throwing me onto my right side and grappling my forearms into an awkward hold around my waist.

“I got him!” The guard holding me grunted. “Shit, he's really worked up! Would you hurry and jab him? I'm not sure how long I can keep my grip.”

I strained, throwing my head back as I thrashed to break the hold as much as I could, which wasn't effective at all. He had both weight and physics on his side. He'd also been wise enough to keep his head low behind me, the bridge of his nose well out of smashing range. Sense wasn't with me as I continued to raise holy hell. The pain welled. Not from my intended concussion, this was something worse, something far stranger and more persistent.

I had to stop it, I had to stop it or it would rend its claws into me!

The second guard leaned over my left shoulder and in a hard thrust slammed something against the muscle. A snap and a sharp sting betrayed my fate even before he declared it. A fucking auto-injector! And I knew damn well what little joyride had been loaded inside it. “Got him. You want me to cuff him?”

“You crazy? Fuck, I'm not letting go now! Listen to him fitting! I'll hold him til that kicks in.”

Shit, I was still thrashing and screaming my fool head off. I wanted to stop, to lie still and behave like the human being I should have been, but that level of sense couldn't be reached right now no matter how much I desired it.

“Hey psycho, knock it off. Thank heavens you're going to be taking a nice long nap soon.”

My panicked efforts redoubled. No! I didn't want to go to sleep. Things got worse. The sensation was still building. The visions—bodies twisted and mutilated, victims stretched out as far as the eyes could see—I wanted it to stop, to end. Sedation would only make it worse! Under that I couldn't deflect the tsunami of horrors.

“He doesn't seem to notice he's seriously bleeding. You're right, he really is worked up. What the heck is with this guy?”

The guard carefully adjusted his grip, his voice a bit strained as I bucked unsuccessfully. “Used to be a detective.”

“No shit! **He** was in law enforcement?”

“Yeah, a real sharp one too. I dunno exactly what happened, it was a couple years ago. Something about his kid becoming a victim. Anyway, instead of letting the arrest happen and the accused go to trial, guess he showed up at the guy's house and turned him into excessive target practice.”

“Whoa. How many shots?”

“A friend of mine was on the SWAT team who was supposed to arrest the perp. Instead they had to scrape that dude off the floor. This bastard unloaded a full mag into the guy right inside his front door and he'd tried to load a second one when his partner threw him to the ground and pinned him. SWAT rushed onto the scene to hear him shouting that he wanted to plant the second one into the dude. Not exactly protocol for you.”

Everything was turning fuzzy, the inescapable pull of the drug coursing through my veins, dragging me down like a pit of quicksand. The more I tried to resist, the swifter the effects kicked in. My efforts to struggle steadily lost their force. My cries were little more than sobs, blood mingled with tears. The effects of the sedative kicked my ass, as they invariably did. But still the guard clamped my arms to my waist. The flailing of my trapped hands did nothing to assist me. I was utterly powerless.

“Hey, you got your flashlight?”

“Yeah.” He took it out and held it up.

“Tell me when his eyes stop responding to the light.”

The beam hurt as I tried to turn my head away, wincing.

“Seriously,” he spoke into my ear, “I'd appreciate knowing what you're trying to accomplish when you do this. That's got to hurt!”

Not half as much as the internal pain. Besides, it wasn't like I wanted to lose my shit! I'd give anything not to be like this! To extinguish this raging fire burning inside me. I stared hopelessly at the gun lying discarded on the floor. Maybe I should have just turned it on myself. Too late now.

I could no longer hold my head up. The muscle tension abandoning me as I gasped each breath. My chance at an out from this perpetual hell … faded.

The light flared in my eyes, the lids would barely close to shield me from the assault. The signal hardly reached.

“Heh, can't fake that—hardly any pupil reaction. He's thoroughly doped. Think you can let him go now.” The guard leaned down and clamped a bar cuff around my left wrist before tugging it behind my back. The one grappling me levered up enough and pulled my right wrist behind, latching me securely. The precaution was pointless, firmly dragged down by the sedation I now leaned against the wall with my head lolling against my chest as one of them held the solid cuff turning it against my wrist in a warning just in case I decided to become hostile again. As if I could. Blood streamed down, dripping onto my slumped chest.

A medic entered at their command. Not the first time I had seen him pay a visit to my cell as he lifted my head and eyed me with pity. “Again? This split is right next to the last one that just healed.” It took several minutes as he wiped the gash clean, the solution stung but I couldn't react any longer. That's all this sedation did—stole my ability to react. Taping a large bandage over my forehead he glimpsed my fingernails. Carefully he unbuttoned part of my jumpsuit, looking at my chest he shook his head. “Well, these are fresh too. Better at least wipe the blood away, clean 'em up.” As gentle as he tried to be, it stung like crazy.

I'd been thorough this time.

“Leave those alone now so they can heal.” Rebuttoning my jumpsuit he waved a hand. “Much as I can do, boys. At least he'll be quiet for a while, should break up the insomnia. Til next time.” He took his kit and left the room.

The guards hoisted me up and dragged me further from the door. Dumping me on my chest before they released the cuffs and walked out. The door slammed shut behind them leaving me in silence, one cheek against the rough tatami mat. Right within my barely focusing gaze the tormenting word _Murderer._

Now as the blade continued to saw away inside my head I could no longer cry out. What was the point? I couldn't escape this madness any route I tried. I was trapped in my insanity as horrific visions of mutilated corpses blinded me.

I had to face facts—no one could save me.

_**~Hayaseura~** _

There is something I find fascinating about the subconscious mind. Well, many things I find fascinating about it. But nothing is so vibrant as the darkness within, often hidden behind a smile, a jovial gesture … or even a pacifist's gentle gaze.

Never had I imagined in a million years what I would find when I re-entered _his_ psyche. The numbered tiles stretched out to the storm torn horizon. Clouds shrouded the sky, heavy with a payload they would never unleash. Bolts of lightning lashed down their tirade upon the landscape. Thunder rumbled disrupting the silence. At my feet lay the body of a man in a business suit, scorched from the bolt's savage strike. His eyes stared toward the ceaselessly turbulent heavens in the long ago shock he had not seen coming.

Akihito Narihisago.

So this was how my meddling had played out.

I smiled, folding my hands over the ball tip of my cane. It was my great fortune that my once tool had not fallen to his ultimate demise. To my delight I had discovered he still lived, serving a life sentence in Fuchu prison. True, I had only _intended_ to use him once, nothing more than a perfectly placed sacrificial lamb in a time of need. After all, where would my program be now if I had let the Challenger have his way with Kiki Asukai? That great destructive fool. I never should have let him in.

Yet that misstep exposed the dangers of my program. I had let them in. Several of them. And where one had tried to seize my precious asset, others might also try to take her for their own sick pleasures. It had taken years, but I now had the means to permanently protect my investment. The time had come to proceed to the next phase, and to do so required a little planned cleanup.

I stared down at the prone detective. Deceased. So, _this_ was how he saw himself. Fascinating. And yet it made sense from his profile. Because I had never met the man in person, I had not gotten to know this Narihisago very well, he had been working under another chief. And yet that had made the deception all the easier. Our disconnection.

What I had known of him came from word around the station, his remarkable reputation. He was incredibly perceptive, with an superb deductive reasoning that solved the most obscure of cases. He was widely known for his persistence to the point of obsession—that detail in his file was the spark that ultimately caught my attention.

Obsession. The mark of a mind with a weak point. He was focused, and such a focus could mean control of him if one could direct his gaze.

The other thing that caught my attention was the perfect built-in trigger—he was a family man.

There had been one unfortunate hurdle I hadn't anticipated when I first chose him—the man was a pacifist. His record showed it. Time and again when the field situation turned to conflict he scrambled to avoid it.

Still, that was easily fixable.

The knife weighed in my hand, a perfect balance. It gleamed in the flash of lightning. It hadn't been easy to alter him those years ago when I'd covertly entered his subconscious to find a content, rather well adjusted psyche. I had learned my lesson—the others I had influence had interacted with me inside their psyches, knew I was there. But _they_ were gullible, believing me to be nothing more than a figment of their dreams. With Narihisago I couldn't let that happen. This man was too perceptive and bent on the principle of duty. He would reveal me the moment he realized the truth. So I hid myself, shrouded in shadows, blinding him with his own blood. He probably thought it was headache, or perhaps his first migraine as the mind control set in. In his case, to be safe, I had been thorough.

As I would be again.

Removing his neck tie I bound it tightly around his dead eyes. Now I thumbed the edge of my knife.

“Sorry that I have to do this to you again. I had intended to let you retire in peace. You served me well before, but it seems … I am not finished with you.”

The blade pierced his skull.

Narihisago's mouth opened in a scream, he thrashed beneath me as I pressed down on his chest. Oh that scream, that cry of blind terror, how I relished it. I hadn't been certain I could reach him when I recognized his prone body in the middle of the fractured square—but it worked. My blade found his subconsciousness hiding deep inside!

His hands gripped my arm, trying to fend me off. It was useless, even in his own mind his strength had atrophied. I had to fix that. Had to pry part of him loose, isolate that useful part.

Relax, this goes quicker if you don't fight me. I worked the blade back and forth, working my fine touch against the neural pathways as he howled, his frantic grip failing to dislodge me.

“What are you doing to me?” he shouted as the blood flowed out.

I'm reinventing you, bringing back the detective. I have need of you. I cannot let you go free, but I _can_ harness you for a divine purpose. Mustn't fix too much, though. Can't have you back to normal again or you'll reveal the truth.

Lightning split the sky, winking off the metal and reflecting the blaze straight into his head. Beneath my hands Narihisago bucked and howled as my blade carried out its work in deft strokes. His own blood painted him red. “Stop! You're hurting me!” He screamed. “Why is this happening? Someone help me! Someone please!”

No one no one could reach him, no would help him. Nearly done. Though I didn't wish to stop. The sensation of the blade working against his flesh—power! His psyche was putty in my hands once more. I had never done this more than once to the same killer. I had no way of knowing if this man was even close to sane any longer. Two years in prison after my swift savage alteration might have broken him completely. I'd had to be thorough before to make certain a man of his once gentle nature would follow through to task. And he most certainly had! The classified internal affairs report proved I had pushed him close enough to the edge. Of course the motive had been in place—I had distracted the Challenger's blood lust with Narihisago's daughter. That savage imbecile had taken the dangling bait. I had not anticipated the wife committing suicide, but no matter—that act proved an effective catalyst.

No, I could not remove the rage. That now drove him, and that would keep him safely imprisoned. Narihisago's screams were like music as I drove the blade further, working into his impulses. In fact it would work to my benefit to intensify that connection. Obsession … forge his urge to take out murderers into an all out addiction. With this newly fashioned tool I would certainly leave no evidence behind.

He would dispose of them all for me. The Cornerer.

Something had come over him. Beneath me he lay panting, prone. I withdrew the knife and all he did was groan. His psyche was wide open, the battered gates protecting his inner self hanging off the proverbial hinges.

If I could guess they had drugged him in reality … leaving him vulnerable to the undercurrent. Oh Kiki, what horrors are you exposing him to now? I could only imagine. Still, thanks to Kiki providing these corridors I was able to do this. Quite literally achieving my dream.

I caressed his slack jaw. When I first broke into his subconscious I had found him content, a family man with a promising career. I'd almost abandoned my plan to use him. He'd seemed too pure. But then I saw it—I glimpsed the dark hidden corner of his obsession. It is possible for good intentions to become evil. Hyper-focused, persistent … and protective. It was too easy.

Now Narihisago, you will diligently chase the prey _I_ put before you. The perfect tool at my subtle disposal.

Finished here, a force pulled me upward into the leaden skies leaving behind his battered subconscious hemorrhaging on the square tiles.

I opened my eyes to the cockpit screen with his name on it. Akihito Narihisago. I only hoped I had done enough. After all, this was all experimental.

Straightening my tie I left the cockpit and closed the hidden door behind me. My body felt suddenly older than the moments before. Inside the id well the strange phenomenon of being a different version of myself still boggled me. Each time I tasted the youthful vigor I craved more of it. This difference would be a blessing. The intentional programmed amnesia state of the new test subjects would prove critical. I knew my influence would be visible to him, I could never erase my imprint … but like Kaeru, perhaps I could convince the new staff that it was merely a quirk of the system.

Sitting down at my office desk I shuffled Narihisago's file in with a stack of obviously lesser candidates.

“Now to be certain that he will be the selected pilot.” From a second stack I pulled out a file and opened it, my finger tapping in the case history, as well as the access. So, he still occasionally visits his ex-partner at Fuchu. “Perfect.” I folded my hands over the file. “I clearly need to schedule an interview with Detective Funetaro Momoki. It seems that the man is long overdue for a promotion.”


	2. Chapter 2

_**~Momoki~** _

My head rested heavily in my hands. If it weren't for that prop my forehead would be touching the scarred wooden top of my desk. The open file's words I'd read countless times blurred in my field of vision. This damn case! I'd been on it for weeks and yet the evidence was nearly nonexistence. The often spoken mantra battered me from the past, _nothing in the world is truly random, there is reason for everything if you look deep enough._ That mantra did not belong to me. I knew who used to say that, and his memory haunted me. Racking my brain I fought for some pattern in the nonsense, some previously overlooked detail to catch my eye.

Nothing—all a hopeless fog.

My head sunk further, inches from my desk on the bullpen floor as the other detectives bustled around me. All these years working in the First Investigation Division's homicide department and I hadn't moved from my initial desk. Not surprising as my record for closing cases these last two years had been abysmal. My previous half dozen had gone cold and shelved by the chief.

I needed a line to follow. I needed a breakthrough. I needed … my throat grew tight.

What I _needed_ was impossible to access.

Certainly I could take a trip to Fuchu. But they'd never let me bring this file in. It would be pointless, he'd never be able to sort out the clues without seeing them. Besides, I wasn't certain he had it in him any longer. The fire had gone out of his eyes over a year ago, my visits more and more difficult to bear. I had begun to question who the act tortured the most—him or me.

I ran my hand through my hair, who was I fooling? It was only a matter of time before I would be taken off this case too. Only a matter of time before I would be transferred to another position. I could feel that administrative collar chaffing already as I ran a finger under my necktie, loosening it.

There was nothing I could do. With nothing to cover it up, my short-falling had been exposed for too long to be deniable. I wasn't the reason cases had been solved in my early years here … the real genius behind those successes … was gone.

A shadow fell over my shoulder. I glanced up to find Chief Tominaga's stern gaze. His eyes were a gun trained on me. “Detective Momoki, would you come with me.”

A pit grew in my stomach as I pushed up from my desk and followed him with my head bowed. I felt the weighted stares of the suddenly silent office staff. This was it, the short march to my end. My career was over. Administrative duty here I come. I didn't even pay attention to where we were headed, I just followed his heels like an obedient dog.

When a door closed behind me I realized this wasn't his office, the pattern on the carpet belonged to a conference room.

“Detective Funetaro Momoki,” he announced and lifted a hand in gesture across the room, “this is Chief Takuhiko Hayaseura. He requested to meet with you in private.”

I closed my eyes, hands stiff at my sides as I forced a full bow. Shit, here it comes. I'm getting transferred out of here, or fired for my ineptitude. I had nothing to say.

“Chief, if you'll excuse me.” The door opened and closed as Tominaga left us alone.

The silence stretched out as I stared at the carpet. It grew awkward. I inched my eyes up to find a white-haired man idly gazing out the window with his hands clasped loosely behind his back. He would have looked more in place bird watching at a park. I had never seen this man before. Granted that wasn't unusual, there were various departments in the division and I'd mostly kept to homicide scrambling to keep a hold of my job. Lately, aside from grabbing drinks after work with Senior Detective Kokuryu Matsuoka, I hadn't been paying much attention to coworkers.

I cleared my throat. “You wanted to speak with me, Chief Hayaseura?”

“Indeed, I did.” Though he was soft spoken, each word was unusually firm. “I have reviewed your file, Momoki.”

The weight of his words pulled my chin down into my chest. My day of reckoning was here. Where would I end up? Some tiny office putting hard copy files in numerical order? The inescapable pit of evidence processing? An administrative assistant to the commissioner? Oh dear God, not that!

“You have been struggling to produce any meaningful contribution to your department. I must say that it does seem to reflect that your current position is not aligned with your skills.”

I swallowed the lump in my throat. “I am aware of my recent failings, sir. Please, I am doing the best that I can to serve the force. However, I understand that as a detective repeated failure to close cases is not acceptable.”

He laughed softly. Turning and offering a smile beneath his mustache, he released his hands and adjusted his tie. “Take a deep breath detective, and actually listen to what I have to say. You seem as though you expect me to show you the door.”

Those words had the opposite effect. I stiffened.

“The truth is I have come to show you _another_ door.” He strode across the room at a relaxed pace.

Another door? What was that supposed to me?

Standing before me now he reached out and adjusted my own tie, tracing his fingers down it with a confident smile. “As I mentioned, your current position as an ordinary detective is not proper for you. Your record, if anyone had bothered to examine it properly, reveals an untapped skill set.”

His eyes were barely slits, shaded by the overhead lighting in the room. Even this close I couldn't see the color. At the edges there were smile lines etched in by his advanced years. I had no idea what he could possibly be talking about.

“Your leadership qualities are remarkable.” Placing his hands on my shoulders he squeezed them firmly. “There is a new homicide department preparing to launch and I am in need of a qualified man to organize and direct the new crew.”

I knew my jaw hung slack, and yet I failed to collect it for several moments.

“This would be a meaningful promotion to a position which would entail a lot of responsibility overseeing the implementation and operation of cutting edge technology to apprehend serial killers. My organization will have its own staff of operatives located in a separate building from here with a unique jurisdiction. We will have our own set of field agents coordinating with the regular police, when essential. It is my hope that this new approach will lead to the removal of violent threats hiding in plain sight within our community, bringing justice to the victims and preventing many more. And you are just the director I am looking for to head up my hand-picked staff.”

What was I hearing! New technology? I was hardly a Luddite. In fact, I often took advantage of new devices that helped speed things up. On my own I struggled to pick out the clues in the traditional sense, but the cases where I had been a team leader coordinating others had all been closed in decent time.

Maybe this stranger was right … a new position was all I needed to succeed.

“Sir, what is this new technology, if I might ask?”

His grin wrinkled his eyes. “Of course you may. It's a little difficult to explain, but the test runs have had a devastating effect in its proof of concept phase. Which is how the green light was acquired from the top brass. The machine we use to compile the data allowed the team to blindly produced the solution to several already solved cases, proving its accuracy. Of course there would be the building of your team along with a learning curve, I would require thorough updates on your progress. But I think once the program is up and running with you at the helm the success rate of this new department would cast a shadow over this one.”

If I could succeed … I would hear the end of the overhead invitations to transfer.

This would be **my** success. **My** path. Forged by **me**.

My heart raced. “If I accepted your offer when would my transfer take place?”

He held out his hand. “Immediately, if you are on board. I would need to get you up to speed swiftly. There is a schedule to keep to and still several steps before we can go live with our first case.”

My hand trembled as I tried to steady my nerves. This was a huge step. There would be no looking back … back on my desk, an unsolved case file with no hope in sight, just a deep dark pit of failure. And here, in his smile I saw a different light, a different role—my salvation in a time of great need.

I bowed deeply at the waist. “It would be my great honor to work under you, Chief Hayaseura.”

“Excellent. I will notify Tominaga to complete the transfer while you get your things. Meet me in the lobby and we will proceed to the Kura right away.”

“The Kura?”

“Indeed. I'll drive, if you don't mind.” He held up a briefcase. “I have some files for you to look over to assess compatibility. One of your first duties will be recruiting a suitable candidate for a critical role.”

At his gesture, I opened the door to the conference room and followed him out. “What role?”

“Our first official pilot for the Mizuhanome.”

This now didn't make any sense. “Chief, pardon the question … but someone is going to be piloting the goddess of water?”

He chuckled. “An understandable misunderstanding. All will be clear when we arrive at new assignment.” Walking towards chief Tominaga's office he vanished through the door.

Across the bullpen floor, Matsuoka peered out his own door, cocking his scarred eyebrow at me. I felt the smile turning the corners of my lips as I fetched what little I had from my desk, including my long overcoat. The other detectives watched me, I could only imagine what they were thinking. I was leaving—but instead of trying to hide tear-stained eyes … I displayed a broad smile.

Things were looking up.

**~Momoki~**

I stood in the bottom of a multi-story circular chamber staring up into the suspended ring. In a three-dimensional holograph a strange landscape boggled my mind. A minuscule figure wandered through it. Beside this digital landscape broadcast in a floating window, I did not even realize was technologically possible, a video recording played out showing a series of ladders that the man climbed to navigate a strange vertical labyrinth.

It was unreal.

Beside me Hayaseura stood with his chest thrust out, reminding me oddly of the presenter of science fair's winning project. “This is merely a recording of a test dive. But as you can see, the Brilliant Detective avatar navigates the subconscious drive of the killer, or their id well. In real time within this Wellside all video is recorded. It can be retrieved, rewound, slowed down, the depth of focus changed. Your staff will be working off the clues collected. The deeper your pilot is able to explore, the more you will comprehend your targeted killer, eventually exposing a critical clue betraying their identity and permitting their arrest.”

Enthralled by this marvel, my hand tapped the image, capturing it mid air. A quick flick and I zoomed in and back out again. The entire room was equipped to be a computer with floating screens and projected keyboards. The cutting razor's edge of the latest technology. “Astonishing.”

“And the best part of this is that we have authorization to issue immediate active warrants on these findings alone. The arrests can be carried out and the guilty party locked up right here in our onsite prison.”

It was hard to take my eyes off the video as the avatar pondered a painting at the top of one of the ladders. It was like watching a video game. Was this what he meant by a _pilot_? Someone behind the controls driving a digital exploration? That would utterly be amazing!

“The prisoners we would keep here require no trial. True fast-tracked justice.”

“Wait … what?” I turned to face him.

“You heard me correctly. No trial required.” He smiled into his eyes. “The subconscious by its very nature cannot lie. So once the owner of the id well is determined they have effectively admitted their own guilt. The Wakumusubi will only collect cognition particles spawned by a true impulse to kill, so the danger of an innocent man being declared guilty is entirely negated.”

“This has been authorized?”

He nodded, gripping his hands behind his back. “Fully. Based on the accuracy of the thorough testing phase. Have you had an opportunity to examine the files I have sent you?”

Hesitantly I nodded. It had been difficult to make any decision in the car. Frankly this all seemed like something out a science fiction movie. If I hadn't seen the machine demonstrated I wouldn't have believed it possible.

“Chief Hayaseura … you already chose most of the Wellside staff.”

“I did. They have been specially selected and approved. I scoured the departments looking for the proper aptitude for their specific assignments. I am aware some of them come across as rather green, but for this venture open minds are more compatible than those entrenched in the archaic system. We have already tested them with virtual runs and they were the top performing candidates. We will of course require field agents … ”

“I may have a suggestion for that, I'll pull his fill and send it to you.” More than once Matsuoka grumbled into his drink at the bar. His own career had stagnated years ago in an act of frustration due to the red tape on an assignment. His blunt vocalizations had effectively blacklisted him. He wasn't a fan of being a desk jockey, perhaps I could offer him a new option.

“Wonderful.” Hayaseura entered a text into his phone. “I'll have tech support get your administrative profile authorized. That shouldn't take them long. The more valuable staff that you have a prior working relationship with, the better.”

 _Prior working relationship_ … the files he had handed me for the pilots, one in particular stood out. Would it work?

“Director Momoki? Is there a problem?”

I snapped out of my thoughts. “Just considering something, sir. The position of the pilot.”

“Yes?”

“The deeper the pilot can navigate the avatar by intuition … the better?”

“We call the avatar the Brilliant Detective. You have it precisely. The more intuitive their instincts, the better adept they will be at digging out the identity of your target. However—there is a caveat. In order to enter an id well they must have an intimate comprehension of the urge the kill. That connection is not fully understood at this time—but we know it is essential that they have killed before engaging in a dive.”

 _A murderer_ … My eyes narrowed as the thought surged again. “Who would possibly be more adept than a prior homicide detective.”

His chin raised. “You have a candidate not previously on this list?”

“On the contrary, Chief. His file was actually in the stack you provided. But it seems _that_ portion of his file is confidential.”

“Oh really? I merely requested that list from the prison system's current inmates that matched certain attributes. Tell me, which one?”

Once I said it there would be no going back. There was a gag order on discussing it, directly from the top brass to protect the reputation of the department. But this was my chief … and there was a chance this could work to a great benefit to society. A chance to salvage what was left of **his** brilliant mind. I reached into the stack of files and pulled his to the top.

Opening the folder Hayaseura rubbed his trimmed beard. “Hrm … interesting.”

I didn't have to look, in fact I had scarcely needed to scan the file.

Inmate number 29102016. Akihito Narihisago. Serving a life sentence for murder in the first degree. And I knew damn well he had planned what he did. Just minutes before I had spoken to him on the phone he had been calm, collected. But beneath that facade he had already snapped like a dry rotted twig. I should have known in the days that led up to it that he was spiraling downward. It was too late to acknowledge that I had let my optimism turn a blind eye to the bitter truth. A cruel truth—the very case we had been working on, the Challenger, had detonated into a veritable shit show. Narihisago's teenage daughter had become an unfortunate victim, beaten to a bloody pulp. Determined to solve it in the days following her death, he'd redoubled his efforts … until … he came home to find Ayako literally bathing in her own blood from a suicide. That loss brought him to his knees. The chief put him on leave to prevent any rash retaliation—no one expected the gentle-natured Narihisago to do anything of the sort, it was just a gesture that he needed time to process losing everything.

Behind those eyes a darkness consumed him. Drove him to his own twisted sense of justice … to mercilessly slaughter Denshin Katsuyama by shooting him repeatedly in ice cold blood. To this day I was torn by his actions. I had to remind myself that Katsuyama **had** brutally beaten six people to death, including Narihisago's own teenage daughter. I had rescued his next intended victim from the pit, a frightened and battered young woman, Kiki Asukai … she'd gone missing from the hospital shortly after. Never had turned up. That was still no reason to break protocol and take the man's execution into his own hands. Before the judge he even pleaded guilty, admitting he had fully intended to end the man's life and would willfully do it again were it possible.

I never thought him capable of such an inclination—let alone the action.

Still—my ex-partner was an extraordinary detective, right from the first moment I had met him at the academy it was clear where his aptitude aligned. The skill set was in his blood. It was his whole being, and I doubted even the snapping of that thread had disconnected his aptitude.

At least … I hoped that was the case.

Hayaseura finished flipping through the pages. “Inmate number 29102016.”

“Akihito Narihisago.”

He lifted a brow at my correction. “Ahem, pardon me, Narihisago. There was nothing stating here that he had served a role on the force.”

“Strip order.”

“How did you come to know about it?”

“I was his partner at the time, sir … and his arresting officer, regretfully.” I took a deep breath. “I know there is a stigma surrounding him, but I assure you he **is** your best candidate. Once I have administrative access to the records I would be willing to pull up all the cases he solved that the department struck his name from when he was convicted of murdering a suspect. It might take me the better part of the day.”

“Murdering a suspect? Did that turn out to be true? Was the suspect actually guilty?”

I lowered my gaze. “As a matter of fact, yes. But it doesn't excuse his use of excessive force, reason or not.”

“An admirable sense of justice you possess. You see, I knew I chose the right man for this position. Do you believe he has the intuition essential to dig out the motives of these killers?”

Confidently I widened my stance. “No one can rival him, Chief.”

“Well then … ”

My phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out to the message from the Kura.

“Ah, I see you have access now. Fantastic. Let me draw up the request to authorize his transfer from his current prison to the Kura. As his new handler, you can take it down there yourself, if you would.”

“Today?”

“Why wait?” He waved a hand at the now empty holograph ring. “The transfer will take a few days to finalize the arrangements.”

Suddenly this became real. I may have made a terrible mistake, stuck on the memory of the man I once known. The last time I had seen Narihisago he hadn't even said a word to me. He'd never even looked up for the whole of my visit. What if he wouldn't cooperate? What if he was too far gone … “Sir … I believe we should ask him first, extend the invitation.”

Pausing as he typed on the screen he glanced at me. “If you feel that is necessary. Whatever you think will get the best out of him. There, you should have the form in your inbox. Welcome to the Kura, Director Momoki.”

**~Narihisago~**

_Murderer_ . The word blazed against the pale yellow paint. 

Not even afforded a chair or any type of furniture within my stark cell, I sat on the floor against the wall, hugging my knees to my chest. I could still feel the scratches etched in my skin of my chest and arms from days ago. The uncovered scab on my forehead tugged every time I moved my brow, so I tried not to. I didn't have a mirror but I could see the faint bruising of the blackened eyelid—my right one. I had apparently been off-centered when I had rammed my forehead into the wall.

_Murderer._

That's what I was. All I was. I shivered, gripping my knees tighter.

I was supposed to protect people—not hurt them. Not put them in danger. All I had ever wanted to do was protect people!

I'm a failure. That's all I am. I have no damn purpose, just eating up resources, taking up space, breathing stale air that I had no right to.

Now my outside was beginning to match my inside. Tattered, useless, utterly broken! My hair hung down in overgrown strands, my skin broken and bruised. A mess. A wreck. If I could have shut my eyes and vanished from existence I would have.

Nothing ever changed for me. Nothing ever will. Just a perpetual pointless lingering in a mind-numbing stasis.

The lock thudded back.

I lifted my head, staring. That wasn't the food tray slot. Most everything could be administered through that narrow access that wouldn't permit me to leave. The latch on that diminutive little flap wasn't half as loud as the main door's bolt. In its wake the hinges squealed in protest. I edged backward, a wide-eyed stare up to see what was happening. They rarely opened that door. Why? Why now? What was happening?

The experienced guard who had grappled me in the midst of my deranged fit days ago peered around the corner. The instant I recognized him I dashed my eyes to the ground. Oh shit, I was in for it now. Had he come back to discipline me again for fighting him? For the writing on the wall? I trembled, anticipating the worst.

It was always better that way. No shock when I got what I deserved.

They didn't hit me unless I fought them and forced it … but there were other forms of humiliation. More often than not, I earned them in spades.

“You got a visitor. You know the routine.”

A visitor?

The timing could have been better … could have been worse. Could have been right after I'd beaten the shit out myself.

I sighed, knowing what they wanted and detesting it. In a very slow and deliberate motion, keeping my eyes locked downward I knelt, stretching my arms out in front of me to lie face down on the rough floor. Not an easy position to do much from—precisely why they demanded it.

“Hey, you with it today?” he asked from the door.

Slowly I nodded.

“Nuh uh. I want a verbal answer, see if you're slurring. Now, answer me.”

“Yes, sir.” Came my monotone reply, clear at least. My hot breath collected in the small space. The scab rubbed on the floor with each exhale.

He seemed to be satisfied as he stepped forward, two pairs of shoes—backed by another guard. The cuffs clicked into place, tight against my wrists. I noted they were a rigid set with a bar. The best kind for subduing an unruly prisoner. More than once I had earned a hard wrench against my wrists bringing me to my knees.

“Alright, nice and slow now. On your feet. Eyes down. Don't you dare try anything.”

I swallowed before folding upright. Climbing to my feet with hands cuffed together was tricky, but at least my hands were in front of me. Some sense of stability as they shuffled around, one guard in front, one behind. As ordered I kept my eyes locked on the heels of the guard in front of me, leading the way.

“Wish you were all healed before this. Why you gotta do this to yourself? We're gonna hear grief again, the same old questions about your condition.”

Even if I had been permitted to speak, I had no reply for him. I wish there'd been no cause for me to do it in the first place. At least today my vision was clearer, my thoughts my own. The bruise on my forehead hurt, but that was it. The deeper welling didn't trouble me. I would keep it together as I shuffled along at their set pace.

No sudden moves to worry them. Subdued. Compliant. I didn't want to be trouble, but I couldn't make them understand that. All it ever took was another fit to remind them how deranged I could be.

Before long the door to the visitation room opened, they led me in and pushed me down into the chair in front of the dividing window. On the other side was the world, where respectable people went about their daily lives, free, content. On this side … I stared down at my cuffed hands, preoccupied by them, my passport out of my cell—the only condition I ever left it—bound. Had there ever been a time when I hadn't required restraints? I couldn't recall … but I knew there had been, once upon a Goddamned time.

A deep breath vied for my attention. Focus … focus!

“Narihisago, can you listen to me for a bit?”

Momoki.

I didn't lift my head, but I stole a quick glance through the overgrown forelock of my mussy hair. He sat stiff in the chair, business-like. More than usual. An old trick of his to cover his nerves. The more on edge he was, the firmer his posture. This was by far stiffer than I had seen him in a decade. What was he here for? I stared back at the cuffs, I had no right to look him in the eyes. We were no longer equals, hadn't been since I … no, don't think of that. Not now, you idiot! Don't earn another stint getting wrestled to the floor—or worse.

“This is really important. I have to talk to you about this new department the force is launching, one of the other department chiefs has been put in charge and he recruited me. It's highly experimental involving some new technology that will hopefully allow us to locate serial killers.”

More examples of the world moving on without me. God, I wanted to vanish all the more. Why was he here? To rub it my face? As if it's not enough that Matsuoka had the gall to stop by a while back and gloat, according to the police force I no longer existed. An entire body of work over the course of a decade—erased. That asshole got his wish.

“I've been promoted to head part of this,” Momoki continued as I divided my attention, fully intending to keep my mouth shut as I had nothing to say. I was no longer his partner. No longer a detective. No longer a citizen. I was a monster who even doubted his own humanity. Why did he even bother with me anymore? What an appalling waste of time. “ … and my new chief has asked me to locate recruits for the pilots.” He paused for more than a few breaths.

“The first I thought of was you.”

What? My eyes narrowed, I fought the urge to look up. Me? Why me? Momoki, you fool, I'm incarcerated for **life**. It's not like I can just check out of here like a damn hotel and wander off to a job interview. I have no future! Or is this a moment where you're just teasing me. Come to tell me, _oh I thought about you then remembered you're fucked five ways to Thursday. So—sorry, but by the way, I've been promoted, care to congratulate me?_ I suppressed the scowl that threatened to emerge, easy enough through practice. 

“The Kura has its own facility, and while you'd still be a prisoner there … ”

So? What does that matter?

“ … if you're compatible with the machine,”

My heart skipped a beat, the silence deafening. Are you … are you seriously implying … ?

“ … we'd be working together.”

This was incredulous. He couldn't be serious. No … this had to be a lie. A tease. A ...

“You'd be helping me … as somewhat of a detective again.”

He was dead serious. That was _not_ the tone Momoki used when he was joking.

A detective? Me? Again? How … I stared at the cuffs, flexing my hands in them. How could that even be possible? A convict like me? But I knew that posture. He wasn't pulling my leg. His earnest desperation trying to hide behind the stiff over-professionalism coaxed my gaze up. It was there in his eyes—petrified that I would say no … hell, I hadn't said a word to him in … I didn't know how long. A handful of visits at least.

I could hear his heartbeat racing, or maybe it was just that I could see the vein pulsing on the side of his neck and was imagining it.

“I'll do it.” Was that really my voice? So utterly devoid of life.

Clearly I had actually spoken. His eyes widened, complexion shooting pale as his throat struggled to work again. Shock.

How bad did I actually look now? I didn't know. It had been ages since I had seen my reflection.

He forced a smile. No warmth in it, no confidence. It was dripping with doubt. And I read like a book what had happened behind that facade. He had come here for the man he once knew … he had come for a man that no longer existed. In his place only dwelled a rotting monster. My words, the sound of my voice had slaughtered his last thread of hope.

My eyes drifted back to the floor, like the good prisoner I wanted to be. Obedient, compliant with the rules. I didn't deserve the honor of looking into another man's eyes.

“Good. I had hoped you would agree.”

I had no idea what it was that I had agreed to … save one thing. I would be working with Momoki again. Out of this isolating hellhole into an unknown future. **Anything** had to be better than this.

“Now, if you will excuse me, it will take a few days to process the transfer request. I will go see the warden about that immediately. As soon as possible we'll get you over to the Kura.”

_The Kura_ ? They named it  _the cellar?_ That seemed a bit covert, like an underground facility. Now that would be interesting—if it really was underground in the literal sense. 

Stiffly Momoki stood up and bowed to the divider. “Thank you, Narihisago.”

I lifted my head in disbelief. He had bowed … to me. If I hadn't seen it, I wouldn't have believed it.

For over a minute after the door on his side had shut I stared at the empty seat. It's not like I could do anything. I wasn't allowed to get up until instructed to do so.

A tap on my shoulder brought me out of the silent shock. “Up. Back you go for now.”

Slowly I stood up and shuffled back the way we had come. I wanted to ask if they had heard it too … I'd been delusional before. Was I merely hearing what I wanted to? No. That had to be the truth. I hadn't been optimistic in a long time. I lacked the imagination for it.

Once inside my cell they released the cuffs and shut the door behind them. The bolt reengaged leaving me isolated. I slid down the wall staring at the writing.

 _Murderer_ … how had this happened?

A transfer … I would have a purpose again. I closed my eyes, the edges moist, threatening to spill over.

It was beyond belief. I truly couldn't believe it. By some miracle … I would be a detective again.


	3. Chapter 3

_ **Chapter 3** _

_**~Narihisago~** _

The lights thudded on. I winced, body stiff from lying on the cold floor as I rubbed my eyes with the backs of my hands. Groaning, I sat up against the wall after another restless damn night staring at a darkened ceiling. Optimism fails to take root in a ground so poisoned and parched. I slid down that slope, losing hope of ever walking out of here. Days had passed undisturbed with no response to my repeated question. Just the usual opening of the slot for mealtimes and the accompanying collection of the tray. Six times a day that flap opened to the same damn wordless routine. That was it.

He had mentioned it would take time. I tried to keep up hope … but each day that passed dragged me down further, back to my baseline despair.

My eyes couldn't help but stare at the writing on the wall. _Murderer._

That's _not_ all I was. That denial rang a bit hollow, I couldn't fully convince myself of that possibility. Soon now, I struggled against the sinking pit in my stomach of my dying hope, all I needed was a chance to prove it. I stared at my hands. I had to still have what it took. I mean, I once was a kid racing the novel detective solving crimes before the narrative could lay it all out. I'd **always** been able to tease out the solution. Skills like that didn't just go away. It had been innate—like breathing.

The latch to the slot drew back.

I furrowed my brow. Odd … it was too early for breakfast. From my knowledge of my brief stint in the main communal prison population, they usually fed the working inmates first so they could get to their tasks sooner.

In the dark space beneath the rising flap there was a vague circular shadow … no, not circular, cylindrical. I peered at it, curious for a moment … then my heart froze. That was the barrel of a gun!

An alarmed cry escaped me as a clawed my way up the wall to my feet.

I was to be transferred! I was supposed to be transferred soon! Why were they aiming a gun at me? I wasn't even doing anything!

In a panic I realized there was nowhere I could possibly go. No cover to shield me. The time I had wanted to die was passed. Now I wanted to live! I had to live to help Momoki catch killers. I turned trying to flee to the back of my cell in vane.

I made it two steps.

Bang!

The sound reverberated in the small cell before I felt something peg my right shoulder blade near the back of my neck. A sharp relentless sting followed. I staggered forward. I'd been hit. This was an experience I had only imagined through the writings of others. Never had I been shot in the line of duty having always avoided it. I was probably bleeding back there.

Outside the door they cheered. “Bullseye! Shit, should have done this earlier.”

I was going to die. And they were celebrating? Scrambling, I tried to reach back to staunch the bleeding. Their laughter rang through the door. Probably looked like a dog trying to chase its tail. I couldn't reach. Dizzy … was it from spinning? Or was it … I stumbled, catching my weight against the wall. A numbness washed through me … familiar, I was loosing my coordination, frighteningly quickly.

My hands slipped down the wall as gravity conquered me, stripping my ability to stand. Panting, I toppled backward, landing hard on my side. My eyes rolled, unable to track.

I knew this sensation. Fuck … that had been no bullet.

They opened the main door and strode in, smiling down at me as one of the guards prodded my hip with a barrel of the rifle. All I managed was a moan. Another crouched down and snatched something small from my right shoulder.

A tranq dart. They'd fired a fucking traq dart at me!

“Heh, this morning I hated drawing the short straw for this task. Now I'm actually glad I did.” The guard with the gun patted it and grinned. “That felt remarkably good.”

Another laughed, “And soon enough no more dealing with this crazy lunatic. Ok, no chances, let's get him in the shackles.”

The rattle of more than simple cuffs, those were chains sliding across the floor. While the one guard stood back ready to shoot me with an actual gun if by some miracle I summoned the coordination to make a fuss—that wasn't going to happen, I could barely keep my eyes from rolling back into my head—two other guards ran a chain around my waist and locked my handcuffs to it in front of me. They attached another chain to the waist that ran down to a set of cuffs now latched to my ankles.

Yeah, a bit overkill since I was little more than putty on the floor. It took two guards to haul me up, holding me by my armpits. If they let go nothing would have stopped gravity's cruel treatment.

“The transports waitin' boys, let's get rid of this pain in the ass.”

My head lolled as they half dragged me out of the cell. I tried to shuffle my feet, to walk as much as I could, but my motions were slower than their patience, and I was having trouble focusing my eyes. The chains clattered down the halls. I was leaving Fuchu … in the most humiliating way. Drugged half blind, and flopping like a rag doll.

_**~Momoki~** _

Hayaseura stood beside me with his arms clasped behind his back as the transport van pulled up to the secured door in the parking garage, the one that led to the prison floor access. My heartbeat raced.

Today was the day. It had been two years since I had seen Narihisago without a barrier between us. Today we once again became colleagues. Of course he would be my subordinate. But still, once again I would have access to his astonishing skills. No longer crippled by own lackings. I had spent the last few days showing Hayaseura our old case files, though Narihisago's name was missing from them, his meticulous work was still visible. His unusual approach there in black and white again and again leading my new chief to anticipate their first meeting with ever increasing vigor. At least that's what I thought I was seeing, he did ask lots of questions. I was on pins and needles waiting for him to get his first impression of the greatest investigator I had ever known.

Any minute now he would see what I seen all those years ago.

Akihito Narihisago, the great detective.

I straightened up, hiding my excitement behind a stiff professional facade.

The guards sure were taking their own sweet time. At last the door opened. I couldn't see much in the dark shadows of the van. The rattle of metal surprised me briefly, but of course he would have been cuffed for this, outside of the confines of prison.

A guard came around by the back door and tugged on the brim of his cap. “Chief Hayaseura, transfer from Fuchu for the Kura. One inmate: number 29102016.”

Two guards in the back of the van emerged from the shadows baring a figure with a familiar mop of strawberry blood hair, though in the light it seemed a bit faded. The prisoner between them wore the brown jumpsuit marking him as property of Fuchu prison. I noticed they had fully shackled him—hand cuffs, a waist chain, and leg cuffs all connected, and something else—

He wasn't standing on his own. Head bowed, chin to his chest, he sagged in the guards' grasp. If they let go he looked as if he would crumple to the ground. I peered beneath the unkempt strands of his hair hanging down over his eyes, the lids barely open. They were shifting about in a slow, uncoordinated pattern.

“Is he drugged?” I barked, flexing my fist. The audacity!

The guard beside the door exhaled through his nose. “Of course. It was necessary.”

I had wanted to introduce Hayaseura to the man I deemed the best candidate for this program. What stood before us wasn't even standing, wasn't even there. Narihisago wobbled in their hold clearly not functioning. I locked eyes with the guard. “This is hardly protocol!”

“I assure you it is, sir, when it comes to unruly prisoners, especially leaving the premises. This one has quite the history of delivering a nasty sucker punch. In fact, he caused a major altercation days before his transfer was filed. We had our orders direct from the warden to make certain he arrived without incident. Tranqing him ensured that he wouldn't cause any trouble.”

My fist tightened. Of all the insults … ! How could they do this? What an absolute embarrassment to have him brought here in this manner. What kind of a first impression was this leaving on Hayaseura? His pilot slumped in their grasp, practically drooling.

Dr. Ryo Araya, the Kura's primary onsite doctor, stepped forward from the doorway placing his fingers on the side of Narihisago's neck and frowned. “Well, this is lovely. My apologies, Chief, but looks like I won't be able to conclude my duty immediately, least not entirely. Hard to perform a physical on a man who's been given enough to subdue a charging rhino.”

I expected Hayaseura to be angry, but he simply smiled. “That's quite alright, Doctor. Let's get him inside and we can sort this out.”

The guards started to haul him forward, Narihisago halfway shuffled in an uncoordinated gait. It appeared he was trying through the fog. His head lolled about, face completely slack.

“Chief,” the guard by the van's door pointed, “if it's not too much trouble, that jumpsuit is prison property. The warden would appreciate us bringing it back.”

It took everything to keep the shock internalized. What did they expect … to just strip him naked right here?

Hayaseura nodded. “Certainly.”

My eyes flashed wide for a second, just shy of voicing my outrage. I forced it down. Remain professional, don't blow this!

Araya nodded, “Fine, as I recall we had his new prison uniform in the cell. I'll take care of it.” He waved over his shoulder as he followed the guards into the building.

I stared at the remaining guard's chest, longing to snap at him for the maltreatment. But that wouldn't be professional. To him Narihisago was nothing but a prisoner, not even a name just a number. To me … shit, to me he was something more. And if I wasn't careful, putting distance between myself and him, I could be working myself into a very difficult position. I was his handler. He wasn't so much a colleague—he was an inmate here. A line that I had to establish that should never be crossed.

Shit. I folded my arms over my chest, impatiently waiting as the minutes ticked by. I didn't dare move before Hayaseura did. And for some reason he waited idly, softly smiling as though anticipating an arriving train at the station platform.

At length the two guards reappeared, slung over one arm along with the full set of excessive chains, the brown garment of the like I had seen Narihisago in for the past two years. They tugged on their caps before hopping into the van and driving off without a word.

I wanted to turn and race down the corridor, but Hayaseura leisurely strolled. It wouldn't be proper. Slowly we made our way through the security checkpoints leading down to the cell block in the basement levels. The very fact that the exit could not be accessed below from the prison level by the staircase that recessed into the ceiling was a security measure I had never seen before. The designer of this place clearly knew what they were going to be holding.

We came down through the short hall, passing the empty cells awaiting the results of our work til we came to the last one before entering the solitary confinement chamber. There, two of our guards stood outside the clear pane. Inside, Araya leaned over the bed with another medic assisting him. Narihisago lay stretched out, now in the white jumpsuit specially made for the Kura, a black version of the logo I knew to be emblazoned on the back. He was seriously out of it, not unconscious—but a stone's throw from it. A cut surrounded by a faded bruise on his forehead sprawling to his right eyelid, the same that had marked him when I had visited Fuchu. They'd mentioned an altercation, what had happened?

Araya glanced up at us, the frown deepened. “There is something I must show you.” He stepped back and pushed the sleeve up.

I took in a deep breath and held it.

Down Narihisago's arm were scratches. Numerous ones layered over one another in rows. Some older than others. Araya tugged the collar of the jumpsuit back, shifting it to reveal matching scars across his chest, a few angry and red with scabs, recent.

“Don't know what's up with all these, but I can tell you they pegged him with a tranquilizer dart. There's a tidy little bruise right back here.” He reached behind the right shoulder, the base of his neck. “Not the most reliable in dosage. God knows how much he actually got. No wonder he's so thoroughly doped. All I can tell you is he's got a helluva ticker. His pulse is strong despite.”

That was a slight relief. But still, those marks. How had he come by them? Anytime I asked about his condition the answer had been the same— _the guards hadn't beat him_. Locked in a solitary cell he had done it to himself. Of course they would say that. Deny what they were doing. It churned my gut to think of them abusing him. Every time I saw him he was compliant. Moving only when they told him to, as were the rules. He'd barely spoken, let alone mouthed off. Why did they feel compelled to injure him and then hide it?

No more! It wouldn't happen anymore. You're out of that place now, Narihisago. In our hands things will be better.

“I can't believe they sedated him.”

Araya glanced up at me and shrugged. “It's actually rather common, and frequently overdone if you ask me. One of the reasons I was glad to be transferred out of service in the regular system and given control over this one. Sedation has its uses, but it should be a later resort, not a first one.”

The assistant held a portable x-ray over Narihisago's right wrist as Araya held a thick bore needle. On a screen I watched as he jabbed the needle in, working it with expert care deep between the veins and tendons. Pushing the plunger down, we watched on the live x-ray as a small rice-sized device was left behind as he pulled out the needle. Throughout the whole procedure, which should have hurt, Narihisago barely flinched, barely even blinked.

After covering the small blossom of blood with a bandaid, he did a quick scan and the device sent a readout on the tablet screen. “And success. We have his bio-chip in place. From this we have his identification, sentencing information, GPS— if he should happen to get out, and the ability to live-track his vitals for the dives.”

Vitals? Why would we need to do that?

“Fantastic.” Hayaseura stood with his hands gripped behind his back, smiling all the way to his eyes. “I knew you would provide the best method for this. You intend to use this for all of the Kura's inmates?”

He nodded before gesturing to Narihisago. “I'm not able to tell much about his physical health now, not until he clears the drug. I'll come back down later. But for now … ” he took a white band held out by the assistant and wrapped it around Narihisago's right wrist using a tool to clamp it firmly, irremoveably in place. “There we are. That visibly marks him as an inmate and will serve to amplify the signal so that you can pick it up clearly from the Wellside while he's in the cockpit chamber. You'll want to keep a close eye on his vitals during the dives. If we learned anything from the test ru—”

Hayarseura cleared his throat.

“Ahem. With that, it's as much as I can do at the moment.” Araya and his assistant grabbed their gear and left.

The guards shut the cell's transparent door behind them.

Hayaseura tapped my shoulder. “Our first pilot has arrived. With that we are nearly ready to begin.” Without waiting for a response, he walked off down the hall leaving me in the corridor as the guards followed him, heading for their monitoring station at the center of the prison's floor.

I stood outside his new cell, staring. Listless, Narihisago lay there, his eyes half closed, gazing at nothing. Was he even there? Was he even aware I was out here? No way of knowing.

I bowed my head and placed a hand on the enclosing pane imprisoning my ex-partner from years ago … an uncrossable barrier between us once more. My voice was barely a whisper, “Welcome home, Narihisago.”


	4. Chapter 4

_**~Narihisago~** _

The instant I opened my eyes I shut them again, knifed by a shaft of punishing light. With a moan I grasped the comforter and yanked it over my head as a shield. Calculations ran through my head. For the sunlight to be at this angle meant that dawn had long since passed. Which meant that I had significantly overslept.

Or had I … lifting the edge of the blanket I cracked open one sleep-crusted eye to spy my phone on the bedside table, plugged into the charger. Replacing my shield I yawned in the dark refuge. That's right … today was my day off. My shoulders ached from having hunched at the desk with a blanket tented over the lamp like some deviant child trying not get caught. I hadn't wanted to wake Ayako. My childish efforts had clearly failed when I'd been startled by her hand rubbing the back of my neck through the blanket. I'd scrambled out from under it to her laughter. Well past midnight I'd apparently been snoring on top of the case file I had been scouring over. She had dragged me into bed.

So that's how I'd gotten here. And right now after a handful of hours in bed I was too tired to get up. Damn it, she was right again.

A series of quiet thumps broke through the quiet apartment with a jingling, it sounded like someone with a key chain?

“Muku,” my wife's voice came muffled through the mostly shut bedroom door, “please keep it down. Your father is still sleeping.”

I sighed. **There** was that note in her voice, Ayako was already planning on making me pay for my poor judgment later. I had to wonder what delightful task she would dream up for my ignoring her repeated warning that I needed to come to bed or I would regret it.

The faint squeal of the hinges … I really needed to oil those … a pattering on the floor. Muku was going to get it from her mother for intruding. I could already hear the resulting tira—my thought derailed as something solid landed squarely on me—directly on my bladder!

“Mmmmph!” In an instant my eyes were floating, threatening to explode out of my head.

Oh God!

I shouted in alarm and flung myself out of bed, whimpering in a desperate dash to beat the now _extremely_ urgent need to relieve myself! Thankfully my feet knew the path that my dark-adjusted eyes couldn't even see.

By some miracle, I made it, dignity mostly still intact. Sort of … my hand braced against the wall to keep me from falling over. I had gotten out of bed way too swiftly.

Still groggy, I shuffled back into the bedroom wondering what Muku had dropped on me. She was too clever to still be in the room. There was a lump in the flung back comforter. So it hadn't been my imagination. Tugging the covers off, two round black eyes appeared beneath a pair of ears that sprung up as the fabric released them. The fur covered lump leapt at me. I scrambled backward with an alarmed yelp as my bare feet tangled in the blanket sending me crashing to the floor. A second later a slobbery tongue assaulted me relentlessly. I tried to grab the thing it belonged to, but it wriggled out of hands, dancing all over my chest.

“What the hell … ?”

Muku dashed into the room to my rescue, picking up the bundle of fur and giggling as it kissed her.

My eyes finally focused, no longer overly sensitive to the light. She was holding a dog while one of her junior high classmates stood in the doorway. It took me a moment to remember her name, Asami.

Muku cooed, “So, this is where you went off to—you little scamp.”

Ayako appeared in the doorway, scowling, waiting for our daughter to notice.

I rubbed my hip where I had landed and grunted. “What the heck is a dog doing in our apartment?”

Muku beamed and held the dog out, with her hands in his armpits, dangling his paws as he wagged his curled tail. He was small, likely a puppy. “Mizuki isn't just a dog, he's a shiba inu.”

I huffed a breath. “I know what a shiba inu is, Muku. I want to know what one is doing in our apartment.”

“Isn't he cute, Dad?” She nosed the little dog who now tried to lick her nose clean off. “Asami's family just got him and he's already amazingly talented. He could do all sorts of tricks. You wanna see?”

I leaned back on my elbows, my eyelids still heavy. In the doorway, Asami gave me an awkward smile, waving before she looked up and shrank under Ayako's glare at Muku. The glare Muku remained oblivious to.

“Dad,” Muku scratched Mizuki's ears making him groan in delight, “can we get a dog?”

I flung myself upright. “Absolutely not!”

Instantly she rounded me. “But … but … you didn't even think about it!”

Ayako cleared her throat. “Muku, I believe I told _you_ to ask when your father woke up, not to wake him up!”

“But Mom, I didn't! Mizuki did it.”

“He's been working really long hours lately on a very difficult case.”

“Mom,” she held up the squirming puppy, “don't you want one?”

Now I saw the path to vengeance as Ayako locked eyes with me. So, **I** was going to be the bad guy. She would make me tell her the bad news.

I rubbed my temples. “We can't get a dog.”

“But Dad!” That world class whine. Muku wasn't a bad child, but she was willful to a fault … as Ayako would say, just like her father.

“Dogs are expensive and time consuming. They need to be fed and walked, taken for vet visits. My schedule is erratic and I won't have time for that.”

She hugged Mizuki close to her. “I'll do it! I'll do it all. I'll even get a job and pay for it. You won't even know we have a dog!”

But my bladder likely would. I could still feel where those paws had landed. “There is another reason.” One that no amount of pleading would circumvent. “We can't have a dog in this apartment, it's against the rules.”

“Then let's move! Get a house of our own!”

I grit my teeth, she had no idea how hard it was to find an apartment we could afford. Ayako hung back. Yes, this was clearly my just desserts for ignoring her the other night. It broke my heart, but someone had to reality check our daughter. “No, Muku.”

“But Daaaaaaad!”

“I said **no**!”

Her eyes trembled before she hid them in the dog's fur, her voice muffled. “I hate you, you're so mean!”

Rolling my eyes at the declaration I had heard a dozen times in the last year, for various petty reasons, I tried to remind myself this was a phase. She was a teenager. She'd get over it soon—I hoped.

After a moment she wiped her eyes before fixing me with a determined glare. “I'll prove to you I can be responsible. I'll offer to give Mizuki his daily walks before and after school every day! When you talk to Asami's parents you'll see how reliable I am! I'll prove it to you!”

“Muku, it doesn't—”

Bundling up the dog in her arms she turned and fled, taking Asami in her wake. The door to her room slammed.

I buried my face in my hands. Even if she was responsible it wouldn't change the rules. No pets in the apartment building. I didn't exactly want to court an eviction.

“She's _your_ daughter, Aki.” Ayako leaned against the doorway with her arms crossed, a knowing expression on her face. “Same stubborn streak.”

“I get it.” I threw her a weary smile. “Next time I'll come to bed the _first_ time you remind me.”

She smirked. “I'll believe that when I see it. Now, Funetaro called earlier.”

I stood up with a grunt. “Oh?”

“I told him you were still sleeping. He had a feeling you'd been up late. The chief had called him at home looking for the case file. Said something about it missing.” She slid her eyes over to the desk, to the folder. “Aki, you were supposed to leave that at the office.”

“I know, I know! I just thought that … ”

She pointed out the door. “Not today. Out!”

I laughed. “Alright, alright! I get the hint! No work, boss's orders.” Wrapping my arms around her shoulders I leaned in and kissed her cheek.

“Good.” She ran her hands through my hair. “The chief is worried about you. Said you're obsessing again. You need to learn to walk away.”

“I'm fine. This is just a particularly brutal case is all. Funetaro and I will solve it, hopefully before there's another victim.” …

… My eyes snapped open. My heart pounded against my eardrums as reality assembled itself.

A dream verging on a nightmare. Vivid dreams like this plagued me periodically … leading to a nagging case of sporadic insomnia.

 _Before there's another victim_ … fuck! Two days later while fulfilling her promise of walking Mizuki before school Muku disappeared. Hours later her body had been found.

I sat up in the bed, bringing my knees up so I could rest my head on them taking in gulps of air to settle my raw nerves, the pain so deep I swore I had to be bleeding internally.

A bed?

I blinked, realizing that the fabric I wore was white … not brown.

My right wrist strung a bit. Lifting my head I tugged back the sleeve cuff and noticed a band, a bracelet that hadn't been there before. A bandage adhered to my inner wrist?

Glancing around, my jaw loosened. This wasn't familiar at all. Wearing a white jumpsuit with orange striping in a few places, new and far fancier than the utilitarian one I had before, I sat on a bed in a room probably twice the size of the one I had previously been confined to. The noise-dampening panels covering the concrete walls and ceiling were white. The whole place had recessed lighting tucked so that it shown upward, reflected. There was a privacy wall blocking the toilet on one side. That was odd, what was it bloc … oh. The wall to my left was entirely transparent revealing a similar setup across the hall. I had to shift my head to even see the sheen off the surface. It almost looked like there wasn't anything there. It could have been glass. The effect was rather like that of an aquarium or a terrarium on display. A human zoo.

My bare feet touched the floor. There was a pair of slip on shoes, again rather fancy—white with orange stripes. I ignored those, padding barefoot on the warm floor. Climate controlled. Previously I had no concept of how much I had missed that until this reminder. The air filtration was good. It didn't smell stale.

I placed my palm against the clear surface. Shatterproof. Seamless. Where was the door? How had I gotten into this sealed off room? I stared at the matching cell, there was no doubt that's what it was, empty, but there was a control panel on the outside. That probably meant there was one on mine. I pressed my left cheek against the pane, shutting my right eye. The control panel was thin, but there. Which meant the door was where I theorized.

There were two more cells that I could see, for a total of three across the stark white hall. All of them seemed to be empty.

Where was I? This wasn't Fuchu. There was no place in that prison _this_ clean. Turning my head I tried to look at the jumpsuit for a hint of where I was. Nothing on the front, when I turned my head the right side of my neck ached a bit.

It came back to me in a vague fog. All the details were fuzzy as hell as I racked my brain trying to dredge them up.

The transfer!

When I glanced up a stocky man in a long white lab coat stood outside with a bag in his hand, a man in scrubs beside him flanked by two guards dressed in shades of blue with brimmed caps looking oddly similar to standard uniform police officers. A strange logo on their shoulders, a K boxed in on the open side. The man offered me a grin as I stepped back, no doubt shock on my face. When had they arrived?

“Welcome to the Kura, Mr. Narihisago. My name is Doctor Ryo Araya. Now that you're awake we can proceed with your physical. Hrm, I see you're still clearing the sedative. But you are standing, so you should be good enough for my results.”

Sedative? I rubbed my shoulder near my neck. Oh yeah, I still felt the stubborn haze. God, I had so many questions I couldn't ask.

Araya held up a tablet and flicked through a few things. “Actually it's a bit surprising you're on your feet at this point, they really did dose you up on the way out. We'll have to see how far we can proceed. Please cooperate with these gentlemen here,” he gestured to the guards, “and we can finish this quickly. I assure you, there is no need for any of this to hurt. I merely need to ascertain that you are in proper health to perform your duty.”

One of the guards stepped to the corner of the transparent pane. “Over here, stand on the other side and hold your hands out in from of you, palms down. No sudden moves.”

That was odd, no insistence on keeping my eyes down? Slowly, for one reason as I was accustomed to and another that I was still rather compromised from the lingering effects, I made my way to the corner. Even though they hadn't asked, I lowered my eyes.

Cooperate. Be compliant. Don't give them any reason for concern.

At the guard's gesture, the other opened the panel. He reached in and cuffed my wrists together in front of me. I was a bit surprised it wasn't even too tight. “Ok, over to the bed and sit down.”

As I trudged back over, the guard followed me in, standing nearby as Araya entered with his assistant. “Thank you, Yamane. We'll try to make this quick.” Araya looked at me and smiled. “Your name?”

I blinked, frozen in the moment. No one ever asked me that. I'd been practically forbidden from uttering it. My identity all but stripped from me and replaced by a number.

Yamane tapped my shoulder. “Answer him.”

I stuttered, “A—Akihito Narihisago, sir.”

“Age?”

Shit … how much time had passed? “Forty uhh … ” I shook my head, “forty-six, I think?” I wasn't supposed to ask questions, but I didn't know. I had to know. “What year is it?”

The doctor laughed softly. “I hadn't considered you might have lost track of time. It's 2018 in the month of November.”

I shut my eyes and bowed my head. That confirmed it. Two full years rotting in prison. “Yeah … forty-six is correct then.”

“Ok, let's get started. Look at me, please.”

_**~Momoki~** _

“And that is how the process you will be using works.” Chief Hayaseura sat behind his desk with his hands folded.

I feared that my expression resembled a deer in headlights as I processed the content of the last two hours. The entire time I had kept my mouth shut as he mentioned Mizuhanome and Wakumusubi, cognition particles and the psychology of the id, ego, and superego. A crash course in criminal psychology crammed into my skull.

Just the idea that one could pick up an imprint left behind of a murderer's urge to kill boggled me. It sounded akin to the idea that ghosts were an impression of an emotional trauma linked to a specific place. It sounded utterly ridiculous.

But this building, constructed for this purpose, was proof someone believed it clearly wasn't.

Somehow they had harnessed the ability to construct these things called _id wells_ that would reveal a killer's unfiltered desires. What shaped their personality's raw urge to end the life of another human being. A vile act, unforgivable. We lived in a society where our sense of morals kept us in check, the act of our superego suppressing those dark selfish desires of the id.

The vision slammed into me forcing my eyes shut … Narihisago's hostile glare as he white-knuckled his gun, the finger inside the trigger guard—inside it! The check and balance had clearly failed him. That long ago day he had crossed the line with no going back. That deranged sight had haunted my dreams for years now.

A cell phone ring snapped me out of my thoughts.

“Pardon me, Momoki.” Hayaseura answered. “Yes? … Of course, I have a moment. … Ah, good. And what did you find? … Mmm hmm … yes … understood. So there is no reason not to proceed? … Well, certainly with that in mind, Doctor. As we had discussed before this, that was precisely why the transfer occurred ahead of schedule. This entire project is a work in progress. I will remind you that test subjects have been through this prior to. We have an idea of what to expect. We are merely building a solid team to act as the functional platform verses the experimental ones. So long as there are no serious reservations, and as I understand you, there are none. Correct? … Well then, thank you. Your service is appreciated.”

As I looked up, Hayaseura hung up his phone and set it aside. Folding his hands on his desk he smiled. “That was the good doctor. Our pilot has passed his physical. He is cleared for active duty.”

The physical, already? “So soon?” Earlier today Narihisago had been unable to even keep his eyes open.

“Certainly. But we won't be starting dives for a few days yet. I agree with the doctor that our pilot requires an adjustment period to settle into this new arrangement. Our facility is rather different from what he's been used to and his routine will be as well. Not that it is any worry. You have yet to meet with your own staff. Their transfers are set to be completed by the end of the week. So we have time.”

“Sir? If Narihisago is awake … would it be alright to go and visit him?”

“I see no reason why not. However, you may want to wait until he has finished eating his dinner. I will have them send us word when he is unoccupied.” He tapped his fingers on the desk. “Under normal circumstances you have no reason to request that from me. You are the Wellside Director. The inmates do fall partially under your administration. You have full access to the prison floor whenever you like. However, I will remind you that inmates are not allowed to leave that floor unless receiving treatment in the medical ward.”

I stood before him and bowed. “Understood chief.”

_**~Momoki~** _

When we arrived in the cell block he lay in bed on his side facing the rear wall. Displayed on the back of his jumpsuit the Kura logo in stark black against the white. They had selected the proper size for him at least, I couldn't say the same for that brown one he'd had on before. I had expected him to notice he had company, after all—this was Narihisago, well known for being perceptive. He hadn't moved. Was he sleeping?

At length Hayaseura cleared his throat.

With a bit of a start, Narihisago glanced over his shoulder. He rolled over in a measured motion and stood up, keeping his eyes to the floor. I had thought he would stop there, standing at attention … but then he knelt down, hands on the floor in front of him and set his bruised forehead to them, fully prostrate. It struck me as odd … a posture of complete submission?

My eyebrows raised. That was it, precisely it. This must have been an insisted routine … abject humiliation.

Even though it wouldn't be seen, Hayaseura waved a hand as though nothing were amiss. “Good evening, Mr. Narihisago. Please do get up. There is no need for this display. This is your new home, you should come to feel at ease here.”

The reaction was delayed, and his motions displayed uncertainty as he pealed himself up and gradually stood. But I noted his eyes never left the floor. He looked terrible, not just the marks of abuse on his skin, his complexion was pale and not merely what I had assumed to be from the piss poor lighting in the other prison. For over a decade I had been accustomed to seeing him with a perpetual tan, he had loved being outside with his family altering his skin tone … but two years without so much of a glimpse of the sun had taken that. He resembled some of the perps we had tracked down who had shunned the daylight. He needed a haircut, the strands overgrown enough to weigh it down. Stubble dotted his chin … he'd always been clean shaven. Instead of standing upright his confidence had utterly abandoned him, leaving him slouched in defeat. What the death of his family had started—prison had fully broken the man I had once known. I wanted nothing more than to assure him things would be alright, he would have a better life now… but standing beside my new chief the words would not come. Was it Narihisago's impression I was concerned with? Or my own? If I wasn't careful …

“I trust your accommodations are suitable?” Hayaseura's tone was conversational, as if having tea while catching up with an old acquaintance.

He nodded once, his eyes traveling from one corner to the other. “Yes sir.” Would I ever get used to the emotionless void of his voice? Even the pitch had changed. Lower, lacking both energy and volume.

“I do hope it is an improvement.”

The reply took a few moments. “It is, sir. Nearly twice the size of my previous cell.”

Hayaseura pointed. “And furnished with a bed.”

“Yes sir. It will be nice not to sleep on the floor—not that a prisoner deserves any better than to be treated like the animal he is.” That last part sounded like a mantra. He still wouldn't look up, keeping his hands at his sides. The fingers rolled in an odd, idle pattern. Did he know he was doing it?

“I hope it is comfortable.”

Narihisago nodded once.

“And are you warm enough?”

“I … ,” it was as if something held his tongue for a moment, he shook his head, not a gesture of disagreement, something different.

The chief smiled, “Narihisago, here you are quite permitted to speak your mind.”

Once again he shook his head as if trying to clear it. A quick glance through the top of his eyes before the floor reclaimed his gaze. “Forgive me, sir, I am not accustomed to that privilege.” Was this why he hadn't spoken much to me in the past year? Had they stripped him of his will to speak up? He took a deep breath, visibly fighting to collect his thoughts. “Yes, I am comfortable for the first time in years.”

“Good. And tell me, was the meal to your liking?”

For a brief flash I saw the gleam as he rolled his eyes in a moment of recalled pleasure. “Yes … I have not had rice and fish in years. I had forgotten what it was like to have food with flavor.”

“I am glad to hear that. According to the doctor's report there were some signs of minor malnourishment. We wish to correct those. Must keep our pilot in proper health.” He held out a hand. “Now, here at the Kura we believe in appropriate stimulation, stark walls are not a proper dwelling. So, within reason, you are permitted to request something personal for your cell.”

His eyes swept the floor, a slight tremble stole through him before he tucked his chin. The answer all but a whisper as he shut his eyes tight. “I don't … I no longer _have_ any possessions to call my own, sir.”

My heart broke to hear it. That was indeed true. Everything had been seized upon his arrest, more or less. But still, it was more than time for me to say something. “Narihisago … is there anything I could try to find for you?”

Silence stretched out. It was a quick stolen glance, but his turbulent jade eyes caught me briefly. Their color had faded, far less vibrant than before, practically dead alive. He closed his eyes, his hand clawed at the air at his side. “Momoki … it's been years … are there any photos … ? … Do you have any photos I can have … of them?”

My chest tightened. Of course I knew who he referred to. Who he wished to see and why … I had not opened those albums in all this time. Every photo of Ayako, except the one for her shrine at the family home, had been concealed to spare the pain. Just the thought of thumbing through those and the anguish they would trigger … my skin crawled.

Desperation dwelt in his motions. I bowed my head. “Of course. I will see what I can find and bring them in. It may take me a few days.”

He nodded, still not looking up. “Thank you—sir.”

There it was, the rigid mannerisms. It pained me to see it. He was … who was he to me now? In this moment we were drawing the line. Where did I want it to be? “Narihisago, you really don't have to be so formal.”

His brow furrowed. “Sir.”

I released a long breath. It was written in his posture, his movements, his locked gaze—this is what had been reinforced over the past two years. Not something he could just stop doing. The one who was drawing the line was him.

Hayaseura nodded his head. “Well well now, look at the time. It's getting late. If you will forgive me, the workday is over. And so, I bid you a restful night.”

As he turned to leave, Narihisago glanced up, gazing forlornly at his back. He took a step toward the pane, flattening his palm against it. And I read him plain as day. The unfortunate teasing impact of those words. He longed to leave, to pass through the barrier that held him captive. His shoulders fell … even as I stepped closer and pressed my hand on the other side of the pane, matching his. His sad gaze stared for a moment before the fingers slid down dropping his hand by his side. Defeated, he turned and trudged to his bed, flopping down on the edge and resting his head in his hands.

“Narihisago … ” my voice stuck in my throat. What could I even say?

He didn't look up. It was as though I didn't even exist. How could I blame him. Though an improvement from before, this small cell was now his new dwelling—his entire world.

I got to go home.

It seemed lame, but I couldn't just walk off in silence. “Sleep well.”

He glanced up through his hair. It was something, though ever brief as I turned and left with as much dignity as I could.

Inside … I felt like an ass.


	5. Chapter 5

_**~Momoki~** _

“I appreciate the swift handling of this, Chief Tominaga.” I spoke into my phone as I entered the Kura in the bright morning sunlight, flashing my badge to the security guard on my way in.

“ _Absolutely not a problem. I have to say that when I knocked on his office door and let him know, Matsuoka actually smiled for the first time in ages and shoved everything off his desk.”_

“That had to be messy.”

“ _It certainly was. There is sand everywhere!”_

“Sand?” It took me a moment to visualize his desk before I remembered. “Oh right, the Zen garden you got him all those years ago!”

“ _I got him? No, that wasn't me.”_

In mid-step I paused. That miniature box of sand with the rake had appeared one his desk one morning during Narihisago and my first case. Word going around the office was it was the chief who had given it to him after a rather pointed remark. But … if it wasn't him … ?

“ _Well, good luck, Director Momoki. This sounds like an amazing promotion for you. And I'm glad Matsuoka is moving out of the building, you do understand my hands were tied.”_

“But mine weren't. I'm sure we'll cross paths from time to time.”

“ _I'll look forward to that.”_

Hanging up, I tucked the phone in my pocket. So tomorrow Matsuoka would officially transfer over here as the head of the field agents. I looked forward to trying to explain the Wakumusubi to him. That was going to be interesting. Hayaseura had introduced me to the handheld device the other day, a modern marvel in and of itself. It boggled the mind to consider that it could collect something called cognition particles left behind by a killer. Matsuoka was probably going to tell me I was crazy. Wouldn't be the first time.

The excitement fluttered in my chest. I still had a lot to get used to, but that circular chamber was about to become my laboratory to solve crimes. And Narihisago was going to assist me with the process. Our team—reunited. Certainly once he was working again that laser focus would return.

A hand tapped my shoulder. I turned and found one of the guards tugging his cap down. “Uhhh, Director Momoki, right?”

I nodded and read his name tag, we had indeed met the other day. “Mr. Nori Soma. How can I help you?”

When he looked up the nerves blazed in his every motion as he pointed toward the elevator. “I've been sent to fetch you the moment you arrived, sir.”

“Did Hayaseura want to see me?”

He shook his head, eyes glancing. “Ahh, no. We have a problem. You better come with me.”

Before I had a chance to ask for more information he went for the elevator door. The entire way down he didn't say anything more. My chest tightened as I noted he was opening the security staircase into the prison level.

“Soma … what is wrong?”

“Just … follow me, sir.”

There was only one occupant down here. And we were approaching where he was held.

“Narihisago … what have you done to him?” I raced the final steps to peer into the open cell.

Another guard stood outside the door, he went by the name Yamane. Araya sat on the edge of the bed with Narihisago lying on his back, a collection of bloody cloths on the floor. When he shifted the towel in his hand I saw it, a huge gash in the middle of Narihisago's forehead. He was out cold.

“What the hell—who hit him?”

Soma cleared his throat. “No one did. When I took over for the overnight guard I came by on rounds this morning and found him on the other side of his bed, see the blood spatters on the wall? He did it to himself.”

“No! He didn't! He can't … ”

He pulled out a tablet and played the video feed. “I don't know why the overnight wasn't watching, or what he was doing when this happened, Maybe he thought since there was only one prisoner the job was easy. But yeah, this happened less than a half hour before I arrived.”

I couldn't believe it. No one had entered his cell … in an ever increasing fit, Narihisago scrambled behind his bed, wedging into the corner where he vanished—only to briefly appear, multiple times as he drove his head into the wall. I entered the cell and stared at the corner, the panels spattered with his blood.

All this time the other guards had been telling the truth. The head wounds, the scratches …

Narihisago had done it to himself.

“Araya … is he alright?”

The doctor snorted and peered under the sopping wet cloth. “That's a matter of degree. He's unconscious, that's for sure. This looks a great deal worse than it is. Head cuts always bleed more, but it is slowing down. The good news is the direction he ended up leaning against the wall put some pressure on it, slowing the flow. So he lost less blood than he could have. No need for a transfusion.”

“Why did he do this?”

“Why?” Araya smirked. “I told Hayaseura I had some reservations here. Sure, Narihisago is physically healthy. Mentally? Huh. That's another story altogether.”

“Do you mean he's … ”

“Crazy as a wild horse? Oh yeah. I noticed the erratic ticks and connected that to the scars. He's had quite the series of self-mutilations. You can tell it was him by the angle.” Pushing up a sleeve he traced the red lines on the skin.

“Tch!” I was at a loss for words as I stared at him lying there, a trickle of blood as Araya lifted the cloth. Over the years in prison … Narihisago had lost his mind? This wasn't good.

“Hrm, should be able to get a bandage on this now. Oh hey, might want to get the cleaning staff back there with some bleach. A whole lotta bleach.” Cleansing the skin, he dried it and plastered a large bandaid over it. “There we go. Now hopefully he'll leave that alone long enough for it heal.”

“Seriously, what would have caused him to do this?”

Standing up, Araya lifted a shoulder. “Pure and simple, this guy's unhinged. Did you even read his record from Fuchu? They ran into a lot of trouble with him. It's why he was in the mentally ill medical ward in permanent isolation. Between the fits he was said to be rather compliant. However, when one hit—things got messy.”

My shoulders sagged. Once more wondering if I had made a terrible mistake. “But you said he checked out for the dives.”

“Physically.” He circled his finger by his temple. “Can't say for certain mentally. Anyway, he battered himself up pretty good. Should sleep for much of the day. Probably a good thing, counteract the insomnia.”

Rubbing my face I tried to bite back the screaming inside. “Insomnia?”

“Another thing in his file. They said he used to just sit there for days, forcing himself to stay awake til he collapsed and his body succumbed to sleep. That was if a fit didn't snap him and they ended up sedating him. Well, this was hardly what I thought I'd be coming into this morning.”

There he lay, face slack, strands of his hair matted with his blood. He breathed slowly without so much as a twitch.

Why, Narihisago? Why did you do this to yourself? You were steadfast, stable, focused.

I wondered if he even knew … I wondered if my decision to recruit him had crippled the program. We wouldn't know anything until he woke up.

Shit.

_**~Narihisago~** _

“ … the machine produces a three dimensional digital representation … ”

The room was small, with a large mirror. I couldn't even look at my reflection, didn't want to. I knew that wasn't just a mirror anyway. This was an interrogation room, if I have ever seen one. And I certainly had, just not so much from the perp's side of the table. That was settling, but not like I could do anything about this circumstance. Beyond that two-way mirror was a smaller room with the lights down, probably someone watching and listening, recording everything I did or said. That would be a rather boring job for them.

Across the small metal table Momoki sat and prattled on as if delivering a presentation in a conference for a larger more typical group, and not just me. I sat slumped in the chair eyes fixated on my cuffed wrists, they hadn't over-tightened them, I could actually shift my hands; trying to keep from glancing at the two guards by the door. Over the past days I had picked out their names, Yamane and Soma. I could feel their eyes on me. Not hostile, just wary of my every move.

Shit, this was just like before. I heaved a sigh and stared at my cuffed hands resting in my lap. My head ached from days ago, but there was no need for a bandage anymore at least. If I wasn't careful I'd practically go cross-eyed trying to see the edges of the scab. Only a vague memory of having done it remained, but vivid enough to be a distraction. Now I was calm—that is what mattered.

Momoki stared at it. That wasn't just a polite averting of his eyes. Every time I shifted my gaze his eyes darted away.

Just this morning the doctor had stopped in my cell and checked me over again. With a grim expression he pronounced me fit for my duty. He was hiding something, and I had a feeling I knew what was on his mind, not that I could ask him. I wasn't allowed to ask anything.

“Narihisago.” Momoki firmly placed a hand on the table in my field of vision. “Are you listening to me?”

I stole a quick glance up at him, unsure of whether or not I should respond. The truth was I'd barely heard a word. He had lost me somewhere around ten minutes ago describing some rather large chair or something. My mind had staggered about its usual avenues of nonsense.

He creased his eyes before nodding. “Right. So, that's basically how all this will work.”

Apparently I should have been paying better attention. Looks like thanks to my wandering mind I would be winging this.

“The staff will be arriving tomorrow and I'll be meeting with them. Then we'll be on standby for the first case of our department. The field agents are already getting used to using the Wakumusubi.”

What did a harvest god have to do with this? Some rather fanciful terminology. Sounds like this whole system was designed by a fanciful fruitcake. Still, I wasn't about to say anything. Thanks to this strange ass venture I was in the same room as Momoki for the first time in years. Hadn't I said I'd do anything to change circumstances?

“Do you have any questions?”

And there was the irony. Here I was with only a bare table between us and my gaze was too weighted by guilt to look up, my tongue locked in stony silence.

His hand shifted on the surface stealing my attention by sheer reflex. It couldn't be helped—movement might require a reaction. “I keep forgetting to say this … You have permission to speak. This isn't going to be like Fuchu.”

What was there to say? I'm sorry your sister is dead? I'm sorry I turned out to be a fucked up bastard unworthy of your family's blessing? I'm sorry I've become one of the monsters we once tirelessly hunted?

Slowly I shook my head, closing my eyes. “It has no right to be different. Transferring has done nothing to change the monster I am.”

He cleared his throat. “Well, at least you spoke for once today. It's almost as if you had forgotten how. That would do us no good on the team.”

Somehow he was trying to make light of things. I couldn't find my smile—now _that_ I had forgotten. I hid behind the cascade of my overgrown hair. “Why would anyone care what I have to say?”

“Narihisago … ” he started forcefully enough, but it faded before anything more left him.

An awkward silence stretched out. I stared idly at my prison jewelry. It had not escaped me that after removing the small bandaid on my right wrist there was a sizable puncture wound left behind of the kind I was familiar with. A needle of some sort, but this had been large bore. What was up with that? I had woken in my new cell with that along with the white bracelet that no matter how much I tugged I couldn't remove it. I suspected it to be some form of prison identification. I also had to admit, that was well made, the latch expertly concealed.

“If there is nothing further business-wise,” Momoki reached into his coat pocket and pulled out a thick envelope, “time for something personal.” Reverently he pushed them across the table.

Instantly it consumed my attention. My eyes opened wider, mouth suddenly like cotton had been crammed into it. Were they … ? Both my hands had to move in tandem thanks to the cuffs. I ignored the awkwardness, torn between excitement and apprehension as I reached for it. After so long … were they … ?

His voice was timid. “I'm sorry this took days for me to fill your request. I had to dig out the albums and they … they were hard … to look through. Later I can see if I can locate more.”

The paper of the envelope crackled as I gripped it, holding it up, close to my face as if I could see though it. I wanted to open it, and yet my fingers froze when I tried to will them.

Minutes passed before Momoki stood and bowed. “It appears you'll want time to yourself for those. Gentlemen?” He gestured to the guards.

I scrambled for the words, trying to say it before he left the room. _Thank you_ … but the door had closed leaving me alone with them. The two guards gestured for me to rise. In a slow shuffle we proceeded back to my cell, all the while I clutched my precious cargo.

Two years had passed since I had seen their faces in anything other than my mind.

I sat on the edge of my bed trying to dredge up the courage. Momoki had done this for me. Taken the time to find these. Even said it had been difficult.

Carefully I opened the flap of the envelope and prized out the thick stack of photos. They were face down.

God, I was sweating, so much it dripped from my stubbled chin.

I gulped in the air, shaking violently as I held the photographs still facing away. Forced to shut my eyes as a wave of vertigo took over me. Fortunately, I was already seated on the edge of my bed or I might have fallen over.

Did I remember them correctly? It had been years. Two miserably turbulent years tormented in the crucible of my own guilt.

My hands shook so violently the photos rattled against one another.

I had to look! I had to see them again.

Slowly, bit by bit I turned my hand over. Colors emerged on the other side. A hair piece, two bright yellow balls one with a smiley face. Another ponytail holder low over one shoulder. My fingers covered their faces … but not my own. My past self stood at the edge of the photo clean shaven, shorter hair not weighed down by neglect, smiling so damn wide my eyes were shut. Numb indifference to that long ago vision. Even without seeing myself I knew that's not what I looked like now.

I shifted my fingers, pulling them back to uncover the photo as my eyes widened. Just a bit more. Their grins appeared first. My hand trembled. But I forced it further.

Their eyes emerged—and with that a flash of anguish impacted my chest. A mixture of joy and petrified accusation lingered in their gazes. Their voices haunted me …

_Daddy, why … ?_

_I'll be alright, Aki …_

This had been a terrible mistake!

In a mad scramble I flipped my hand and half-threw, half-dropped the stack face down. My back hit the wall as I hyperventilated, fighting so hard to catch my breath that my vision blurred from lack of oxygen. I wrapped my arms around my drawn up knees, resting my head against them.

“I'm so sorry! I'm so sorry! I'm sooo … ” I didn't have the air for those words, but nothing could stop it as the hot tears ran from my eyes.

What was I thinking! Was this my new version of facing the writing on the wall?

All I'd wanted was to see them again …

… until I could.


	6. Chapter 6

_**~Momoki~** _

Matsuoka narrowed his eyes at the device in his hand, shifting it at various angles. The wrinkles disturbed the old scar carving a line in his eyebrow, aging him. Granted, he was older than I was, but his anti-tech bias was on full display.

“Wakumusubi?” He clicked it on staring at the screen fluctuating. No alarm went off, which of course was a good thing. It was only the two of us in the Wellside staff office as I sat at my desk. The last thing I wanted to know was that either of us had a drive sufficient enough to trigger the thing. “Looks like a child's toy.”

“I have it on sound authority that this isn't. According to Chief Hayaseura it's cutting edge tech that detects cognition particles.”

His brow wrinkled as he glared at me sideways. “Wuh particles?”

“Cognition—”

“I heard you, it just sounds like a bunch of psycho-babble from some dusty college text book. You know, the shit that doesn't provide anyone anything useful other than cost an arm and leg to read about.” He sighed and clicked the device off, setting it on a currently unused desk waiting for my staff to arrive. “Shit, I thought this was going to be a great move, until I tried to come in the building and the damn security guard confiscated my gun.”

I folded my arms, not the first I had heard about this. Security had been quite concerned about the 'gun-nut'.

“Called up to that new chief of ours. Apparently he's got a thing about this. Field agents can't carry firearms. And yet security can? What the hell is with that?”

“I'm sure he has his reasons. And as I understand it, the police will be on site for all arrests. So you won't be going in without backup.”

His fist tightened. “I don't want backup. I want to be able to take care of business myself. We are going after killers, right? Serial killers if I understood you correctly.”

I nodded. “You did.”

“Guys like that aren't going to hesitate to draw blood, Momoki. We have to convince Hayaseura of that.”

Already making waves. I would have thought he'd have learned a lesson through all those paper cuts. In a way his stubbornness was reassuring. I had picked one helluva determined head of my field agents. With Matsuoka out there shit was gonna get done, even if his gun had to be left home. At least I hoped he wouldn't try to bring it again. Security wasn't thrilled with the shouting match that commenced before he finally allowed it to be checked in and left with them in safe keeping.

“Anyway,” he grunted, “you said this place has its own on-site prison?”

Thank goodness, a change of topic. “It does, down in the basement with some impressive security measures. I assure you, no one is getting out of there without proper passage.”

“Really?” That earned me a smile. “More of this high tech stuff?”

I chuckled. “Yes. The same goes for my workspace. Everything looks standard here, but down there—trust me, it gets unreal. Right down to the access of the prison proper.”

“Huh, imagine that. Can we check it out?”

With a shrug, I stood up. Hayaseura told me I had access anytime. And I hadn't seen Narihisago since yesterday in the interrogation room when I gave him a rundown of the Mizuhanome and left the photos with him. In truth, I hadn't told Matsuoka about his presence here. Now seemed as good a time as any. “Sure, why not. At the moment there isn't a lot going on down, seeing as how we have only one—”

A voice out in the hall cut me off. We both stared as it grew louder. “ … and you'll never believe how it ended!”

Two figures appeared in the door carrying boxes. One was a woman close to my height dressed in a dark suit with a purple shirt. Her eyes half lidded and staring directly ahead as if trying to blatantly ignore the chatter-box beside her. He was a touch shorter with ginger colored hair held in place by a bright orange headband that didn't match a stitch on him. His olive green shirt and black clashed with it, but he strode along by her side with his chest thrust out like the statues of roosters.

“So she was found dead, and the guy who did it? It was her brother!”

With a sigh, she muttered. “Good thing I wasn't going to bother reading it anyway.”

“Oh man, but you gotta. Just to see the way it plays out.”

Matsuoka cleared his throat waiting for the young man to look his way. “You lost or something?”

“Huh? Who me?” He lifted the box stuffed full of what looked like toys from movies. Then his eyes flicked to the desk. “Nope. That's my desk you're leaning on.”

Oh dear, this was one of mine? I read the nameplate. “You're Kazuo Wakashika?”

“Mmm hmm.” He dropped the box on the desk and held out a hand. “In the flesh. The master deducer has arrived. You must be the director.”

The moment I nodded he beamed with pride.

“See? Told yah. I can spot clues like nobody can.”

Matsuoka snorted rudely. “Really doubt that some wet behind the ears kid carting around a bunch of toys can live up to that.”

Pointing at the box, Wakashika snapped, “Those are limited edition collectors figures! And what would an old man know?”

“Old man!” He stood up, glaring down into his eyes. “Listen you little punk, I've taken the bark out of bigger dogs than you down at the first division.”

“First division? A relic like you? I don't believe it.”

Well, this was off to a good start. I glanced to the other desk were the woman ignored the fiasco, carefully setting out her collection of manuals and more useful office items. The nameplate on her desk read Sarina Togo. So this was my assistant director. She'd been seasoned already as a coordinator for a task force. Not all of my staff was straight out of college—I eyed Wakashika wondering if I should intervene or let Matsuoka give him one of his patented tongue lashings. Might save me a bit of trouble.

“We're both from first division.” Matsuoka gestured toward me.

“You say that like it means something. There are various departments within that division and not all of them have a great track record. In fact, when it comes to the homicide department the success rate percentile is—”

“Wakashika.” I crossed my arms waiting for him to look my way. The moment he did I turned a photograph of the two of us standing below the seal of our previous department, granted it was when we were both a bit younger and far less jaded. The moment he spied it, he cringed. “The name is Funetaro Momoki, I am the Wellside Director. And this is Kokuryu Matsuoka, the head of Kura's field agents.”

“Ehh, that was probably not the best of first impressions, was it.”

Togo didn't even look up as she replied, “About as smooth as road rash.”

Ouch. That was cold. I couldn't help the slight crack of a grin. I cleared my throat and addressed her. “Sarina Togo?”

At that she looked up and stood at attention, just shy of a salute. “At your service, sir.”

I could tell she'd made it through the ranks the hard way. This wasn't a woman's line of work, and some were known to have risen through less scrupulous means. But her—she had clearly attained it through merit, her every no nonsense move betrayed it. Hayaseura had picked a skilled assistant for me.

“You've seen some action.” I recalled the notes in her file.

“She has?” Wakashika leaned forward. “Really? I mean she doesn't look much older than me.”

Matsuoka burst into barking laughter. “Good call, boy! You almost got ripped a new one.” He waved a hand. “Good luck with this … _staff_ … Momoki. I'll be playing with this toy in the meantime.” Taking the Wakumusubi with him he walked out the door.

Togo eyed Wakashika with that seasoned expression that read like a book stating that his next words might determine precisely how long he had to live. That would not be a good thing, a murder in my own staff on day one.

Fortunately he proved deft at reading that. He flashed a grin and rubbed the back of his neck. “Anyway, I see this is my desk. My desk right here. So I'll just start getting things set up. Yup.” Immediately he dug into the contents pulling out the figures and lining them up on the shelf into carefully positioned action shots. Why was this looking like a dorm room? Then the unopened case of Red Bull and a stash of snacks came out.

I shook my head. Handpicked. Well, this was going to be interesting. “Togo, I am interested in talking with you about your involvement with the drug task force. The success rate really is remarkable.”

Meeting my gaze with an unshakable stare she replied, “You are well versed in department statistics.”

“Of course.” I was not about to divulge why.

“An overachiever.” She raised a brow, there was a flicker of a smile before the stern expression resumed.

A shadow darkened the doorway. I glanced up to find a younger man with paler hair holding a briefcase reading the sign outside the door. The moment he realized he was being watched he gave a nervous grin. “Oh hi, looks like this is the place. I got a bit lost trying to find it. I'm new here.”

“We all are.” Wakashika waved a hand and closed the distance introducing himself again. “And you are?”

A touch on the reserved side, he tucked his chin. “Shirou Kokufu.”

“Ahh,” I approached him and offered a slight bow. This was my other experienced staff member. A data analyst from the first division. “I hope your transfer went smoothly enough.”

He blinked at me. “Have we crossed paths before?”

“Possibly on a case or two. I was down around your offices on occasion. Sometimes sent by the chief. Though I doubt we'd been on a first name basis. Must be nice to get into a new office. Certainly was for me.”

He nodded. “Yeah, this place is much nicer. It smells so … fresh. Oh hey, these are brand new machines.” Setting his briefcase on the desk he leaned closer and started rambling off details faster than I could follow, specs about the processor speeds, RAM, storage caches …

If Kokufu thought this was neat. I couldn't wait to show him the Wellside. He might have a stroke. Better have medics on standby.

Out in the hall two more voices traveled our way in the midst of a quiet conversation.

“Well, that is a good place to view the cherry blossoms, but there is another park that's by far the most stunning. And there is a history attached to it too. Shinjuku Gyoen park.”

“The residence of the Naitō during the Edo period.” 

“Oh, so you're familiar with that?”

Two men carrying boxes paused at the door glancing at the plaque outside. One had glasses and longer hair in a pony tail, the other had shorter hair, almost a bit spiky. He answered matter-of-factly, “If you have a few hours I can run you through the family tree.”

The other awkwardly shifted his wrist against the box to glance at his watch. “Lunch conference?”

“Sure.”

I cocked an eyebrow. Recalling the files I glanced at the last speaker, “Masamune Habutae.” 

He took a step back. “Wow, yeah. You must be the director.”

Quickly I pointed to the taller man at his side. “And you must be Sennosuke Shiratake.”

“Very good.” He set his box down at his desk and pushed his glasses up. “I must say the layout of this building is a tad confusing. I have to wonder since this is recent construction what the purpose of that was.”

“I wish I had an answer for you.” But at the very least I was impressed as they both started to bring out reference books onto their shelves related to their line of focus. Straightening my tie I addressed them all. “It looks like we're all here. It's a pleasure to be working with all of you on this groundbreaking process. Once you have all gotten settled I'll take you down to the Wellside for a tour of where we'll be working the most.”

“Oooo.” Wakashika clapped his hands together and wrung them. “I look forward to seeing the machine up close and personal. Seriously cutting edge stuff. This is gonna be like a game, reminds me a bit of that Assassin's Creed series. I mean, other than the fact that it's a detective avatar running around instead of a killer. But still. How wild will this be. All of us racing to catch murderers.”

What he lacked in professionalism, he made up for in enthusiasm. 

Adjusting one of the figures, he continued, “So this one time I was hanging out on the steeple of his church in the game and out of nowhere this … ”

I had no idea who he thought he was talking to. Everyone else was focused on organizing their desks minding their own business. I sat down and leaned back in my chair. So here we were, the Wellside team, on the cutting edge. Days from kicking off this new department. The excitement was palpable.

_**~Narihisago~** _

The door to my cell opened. I heard the clatter of my food tray on the floor before the pane slid shut again.

It took effort to even stir. On my bed I sat with my knees drawn up, leaning against the rear wall while staring at my lap. Over the passage of time since a day ago I had barely moved. Only when food came. And now I dreaded it was that time again. Dinner.

Cold sweat broke out as I glimpsed the edges of the turned over photos on the floor. Why when I had tossed them did it have to be _there_? In the middle, unavoidable. Running a hand through my hair I summoned up the will to uncoil. Luckily the guards didn't stay and watch. I was alone again. Course, that wouldn't stop them from watching a video feed. I was convinced that was the reason for the clear panes. Transparency.

Awkwardly I crawled to the end of the bed, over the foot board of it. Back pressed against the wall, I kept my gaze averted as I followed it the long way over to the right end of my cell where the tray sat waiting for me. This shouldn't have been that big of a deal. Kneeling down, I put my back to the photos, eating there rather than traversing back to my bed as I had before their arrival.

It was so childish, but I couldn't look. They were like ghosts haunting me. Each bite of the food went down without me even looking at it, without me even tasting it. I was nauseous anyway. But there was no way I wouldn't eat. Not after what I had endured before. The last thing I wanted was for it to be taken away and replaced by that detestable diet I had subsisted on for two years. This wasn't gourmet food by any means, but I had certainly known far worse.

I forced every last morsel down, scraping the plate clean.

Now, taking a deep breath I placed my hand against the wall. The trick was to get back without catching a glimpse. Shit. I felt like some kid forced to stare at the wall in punishment. Slowly I inched my way along.

It was awkward, and I knew someone would view this. They'd probably be laughing, but it didn't matter. I couldn't look …

A stumble. A quick glance, the edge of a photo in my field of vision.

My stomach lurched violently. I doubled over, griping it with white-knuckles as the bile bubbled up. Oh God! The acidic burn surging toward my throat granted speed to my feet.

By some miracle I made it to the toilet. Everything I had just eaten came out in a horrific torrent as my guts turned themselves inside-out. Now **that** I tasted as my head hung over it, tears streaming down my face. If only this would permanently release the dreadful feeling squeezing me inside. But that was a far cry.

Several minutes passed, more than I could count before I shamefully crawled back up the hard way onto my bed. I tucked my knees tight to my chest again and buried my face in my folded arms. Each breath forced as I tried to get a grip again.

But that was the thing … what was I trying to hold onto? They … were … gone.


	7. Chapter 7

_**~Momoki~** _

Well, we were off to a good start. Days had passed of idle chatter in the Wellside staff office. I found myself now excessively acquainted with a significant number of crime detective movies, manga, and anime that I had never known existed—as well all the endings and best parts. All truly spoiled. Thank you Wakashika the walking fanwiki. Alongside that, I had sat various impromptu lectures of the landmarks and rarely spoken of locations and events all over Japan, not limited to Tokyo. In addition to an exhaustive breakdown of pop culture vs historical figures. Both of these between Shiratake and Habutae respectively. The quiet members of my group thus far were Togo and Kokufu, who largely spent their time getting acquainted with the general protocol of the Wellside system. The manual was surprisingly thick, I'd been re-reading it myself, dry as it was. Ideally my goal was to avoid any surprises.

All we wanted to do was get down to the Wellside and see what this machine could really do. But without what the manual called 'building a well' we couldn't. Of course we could run one of the already solved cases. But Chief Hayaseura wasn't in line with that idea, preferring to leave the machine open for an active case the moment our field agents came across a source. So, we waited, wondering if perhaps the wakumusubi was malfunctioning and we'd never get this damn program off the ground.

Wouldn't that be wonderful. I was the head of a doomed from the start program. I stood, about to call a break when my phone rang. I picked it up off my desk to find Hayaseura's name on the screen. “Momoki here.”

“ _I have fantastic news for you. Matsuoka's wakumusubi picked up some cognition particles around the latest crime scene for an ongoing case the police are calling the Face-lifter.”_

Standing there frozen for a moment, my heart began to race from the excitement. Had I heard him right? “Cognition particles mean a well. Face-lifter huh? That's an interesting moniker.”

His voice was the usual pleasant tone. _“As I understand it, it was not named lightly. And just for formality sake, I authorize the first well construction of the Kura.”_

“Thank you, sir. We're on it!” I hung up the phone. All eyes were on me. “We have our first case! Let's get down to the Wellside and fire it up. I can't wait to see this for the first time.”

And so it seemed neither could the rest of the crew as they raced out of the room. In the excitement I nearly forgot about the most important part. What good was the Mizuhanome without our pilot?

_**~Narihisago~** _

Trees stretched their limbs to the heavens, a bright blue sky with hardly a cloud. From the scent pervading the nippy air it was mid autumn. The trees were turning but had yet to drop their colorful foliage. The light breeze playing with my hair felt wonderful. I tugged my scarf a bit tighter around my neck to keep out the chill. Walking through the woods I smiled, reveling at the beauty all around. My hand caressed the rough trunk of a tree and for a moment I considered climbing up it.

“Daddy … wait for me, I want up-up!”

I knew that voice. I turned into the blinding light of the sun, forced to hold up a hand to block the glare. And yet I still couldn't see her well. She was a mere dark silhouette distorted by the light.

I knelt down, arms wide to catch her. “I'll help you climb up … ”

My eyes snapped open. The sight of the white bracelet clamped involuntarily around my wrist slammed me into orientation. This was hardly the woods. Instead I sat with my back to the wall of my cell, on my bed with my knees draw up. Shit, I had been doing this for days on end, every time I fell asleep it happened. My mind dragging me back into memories of those days.

My fist tightened as I curled tighter into a ball. I would never see the outside world again. Nor should a wretched thing like me deserve to. These walls in this cell … this was it for me. For the remainder of my life set apart from the rest of humanity. In my moment of rage induced weakness I had forfeited everything I ever was. Tears stung my eyes as my thoughts wandered relentlessly toward just what I had let go.

“Ahem.” The loud clearing of a throat turned my head slowly toward the door. Two guards stood on the outside looking at me expectantly. “Hey you, get over here. Right in front of me. Hands out, palms down.”

My heart tried to escape my ribs. I had to get over there—with an obstacle in the way. A cold sweat broke out. First things first I was stiff as hell from how I'd been sitting for days. Second … I'd have to execute my strange method of crossing the cell with an audience. In all this time my anxiety hadn't quelled one bit.

“You deaf or something? I said get over here!”

“Yamane,” the other guard remarked, I knew his name was Soma, “he looks like he just woke up. Give him a second.”

“Tsh,” Yamane folded his arms. “We got a schedule to keep. There isn't time for dicking around.”

Against the stiffness I shifted my limbs trying not to wince. Boy had I made things difficult for myself. I couldn't go forward like a normal person, the only possible way to avoid glimpsing the photos was my usual method, as ridiculous as it was. Swallowing my epic load of shame I crawled over the end of the bed.

“What in the actual fu—?”

Soma placed a hand on his shoulder. “Take it easy, he's coming.”

“This guy is a total nutcase!”

That stung. But it did little to change my neurotic posture as I edged along my cell.

“Looks like a gecko on a tank wall.” Yamane remarked coldly. “Look, we seriously don't have all day. Cut the crap and get over here, now!”

“I don't think he can.”

Soma had it right. All the biting comments did was demolish my resolve. Shuffling my feet in nearly a crab walk along the final wall I at last cleared the distance and stood with only the pane between us. I hated how clammy and breathless I was as I lowered my gaze and held my hands out as instructed.

The moment the pane slid back, Yamane slapped the cuffs on my wrists. “Soma, you're in front.”

Head down, I shuffled along between them, expecting the path to the interrogation room from a few days ago. But we passed it. Where were we off to? We turned down a different hall and paused in front of a rather hefty metal door which Soma used his access card and a code to open.

If anything could have commanded my gaze that room was it! A vast circular chamber with minimal décor indirectly lit by bright white lights set into the edges of the floor. The walls were concrete without any of the soundproofing panels in my cell. Had I not been in control of myself I might have called out just to hear the acoustics of the chamber itself. Directly opposite the door an immense black metallic chair filled one wall. And not just a chair itself, the device had a system of gears to recline, cables ran from the back and terminated into the floor panel. I suspected some of them fed to an overhead screen mounted on an adjustable lever arm. Curving around both sides of the chair were two sweeping arcs that looked almost like an incomplete orbital ring.

“Holy shit.” That left my mouth before I realized it was in my mind.

A hand shoved my shoulder. “Move it.”

I staggered forward a few steps. This must be the Mizuhanome's cockpit chamber. And that hulking thing must be the cockpit Momoki had gone on and on about. Shit, why hadn't I listened better to him? Why had I been so damn distracted? Now I was going into this whole thing blind! Looking at it now sent a shudder through my body. Why did it remind me of an execution chair? Something where they'd electrocute prisoners, or give them lethal injections.

My feet put the breaks on. Yamane clearly determined to drag my ass toward it if I didn't comply.

“Hold on a second.” Soma spoke into his phone. “We're in the chamber, Sir. But he seems a bit reluctant to get into the cockpit.”

A click followed by some static, and then the murmur of several voices talking as one over a hidden speaker system. A familiar one spoke the loudest. _“Thank you. Ok, Narihisago remember what I told you earlier?”_

Uhhhh no, I was barely listening. But I couldn't exactly say that now. I swallowed, my foot taking an involuntary step backward even as Yamane shoulder checked me. I regretted volunteering for this now. Why had Momoki betrayed me?

“ _We're all feeling a bit nervous. Just remember it's going to be a lot like what we discussed. I'm trying to remember, you played video games before, right?”_

I found my voice and hoped my racing pulse didn't translate to it. “You know I did, with my daughter.”

“ _Great, it's going to be very similar to that. The cockpit will facilitate the VR link, or rather the virtual reality.”_

That elicited an eye roll from me as I crept closer to the cockpit. “I'm not a Luddite, I know what VR stands for. But I've never done it. Just console games on a TV. This will be different.”

“ _As I said, this is a learning curve for all of us.”_ He sounded so calm.

A new voice came across the speaker. _“This will be exciting! None of us have participated in a live run before.”_ Definitively a younger male, probably just out of college—damn it I was already profiling!

I winced at his statement, none-the-less. College age? How old were these guys who would be running this thing? “Momoki, is that supposed to lend me confidence?”

“ _The process is perfectly safe.”_

I didn't have the luxury of choice in my position. While the others may be here voluntarily, I more or less had no say now. I had a feeling if I hadn't agreed to come somehow I would have been transferred anyway and the position forced on me. I felt like a damned guinea pig. Slowly, I sat down in the chair. It wasn't rock hard, but the cushioning wasn't plush either. Soma unlocked my cuffs and the guards retreated out the door, closing and locking it behind them. I was alone with this strange device in my new position, and I felt rather vulnerable now. There were no goggles or headphones. How was this going to work? I glanced at the overhead screen with its green writing showing a set of numbers that meant nothing to me. Something else grabbed my attention.

 _File: Face-lifter._ What could that possibly mean?

Yet another voice called out clearly over the speaker, this one female _“Director, we have everything online. Ready to commence the first dive at your mark.”_

I stared at the device surrounding me. Something was missing. “Uh huh. And how do I do this little trick? Where are the controls?”

Momoki replied. _“You don't need to concern yourself with those. We have them.”_

A rude noise escaped me. “Oh this just keeps getting better. What did I sign up for?”

“ _Relax, you're the best man for the job.”_

“Says the commander to the Kamikaze pilot.”

“ _What was that? The mic barely picked that up.”_

I released a weary sigh “Nothing, Director Momoki.”

A single clap of hands and then his declaration, “Alright, inject him.”

My eyes shot wide eyed deathly afraid of some needle that I didn't have time to look for. “What?”

I felt nothing.

Instantly my vision blacked out, now it felt like I was being slung shot through space. Out of the darkness strange shapes materialized ... small green cubes floating in structured order, all evenly spaced in columns and rows. The closer I got the more they broke their meticulous order, shifting at seemingly random. Static filled my ears as they flew past me. This was rather … unusual. What was I supposed to gather from all this? The cubes faded into dots arranged in lines to form some broken lattice structure, multi-colors. It almost looked like … circuitry was my best guess, but even that was a bit off. Was there a significance to the colors? The spectrum of light is made up of red, green, and blue … all the colors became visible in shifts, cyan, magenta, and yellow all joined together to make white.

What did tiny dots of light have to do with murder?

A force pulled me faster, accelerating as a broad cyan cross shape filled my field of vision. I couldn't avoid it. Alarmingly I realized I had no limbs to resist with! Whether I liked it or not, I was going in. Swept into the denser light I didn't decelerate. If anything, I went faster, breaking through. I tried to scream, but without lungs that was impossible.

Plunging through, another dark field spread out as white balls of light drifted toward me. I had to concentrate to dredge up what they reminded me of, they were almost cellular in nature, pulsating, shifting as if sound waves or electricity danced against their insides. As swiftly as the fascination consumed my attention one in particular grew alarmingly larger! Directly in front of me!

What was I afraid of? So far I had come through every one of these strange images. Might as well enjoy the ride. Embracing the entrancing spectacle, I let it take me into the sphere with a final burst of speed. It's not like I could stop it. Strange shapes filled my field of vision. Illuminated blobs with arms … they reminded me of something ... like odd DNA molecules. No … another type of structure. There were strands of fine light connecting them. Neurons? Neurons arranged in imperfect lattices? Heh, so this is what it's like to zip through the human mind. Neat.

WHOA!

In a sudden jarring pull I pierced one and came out the other side into a pulsar explosion, or perhaps the big bang on a micro-scale. A great ball with rays of blinding light came in disorganized blue waves in the midst of a great black nothing. Bright and brighter, blinding white.

I couldn't block it out. Blinking seemed to be doing nothing to change the disorienting onslaught—I had no physical eyes or lids to close. Then as suddenly as it started, it all went black.

I opened my eyes and stared up. When had I fallen asleep? I didn't remember lying down and going to sleep. My hand rubbed my temples, I felt a bit nauseous for some reason, like … motion sickness. Slowly I sat up, something tightened around my throat. My other hand was on something soft. I discovered a length of soft yellow fabric. An extra long scarf—around my neck. That was odd. And yet, it felt right. I had a long khaki colored coat with a pair of darker stripes on the cuffs … was that like an officer's military rank or something? No, that didn't seem right. I wasn't an officer, was I? Over a solid black shirt I wore a long button khaki colored shirt. Loose dark shorts with a triangle based geometric design on them over a pair of black leggings and to top it off a set of green and yellow sneakers. Those were rather comfy.

No knowledge of putting any of this on, but it seemed to suit me for some reason.

Me … wait … where was I? And more importantly, I brought a hand up to my face covering one side of it in thought—

Who am I?

**~Momoki~**

“Successful insertion. He's inside the well. We're receiving our first data stream.” Cheering broke out before Togo continued. “ … Huh … it looks like … well, strings or chains or something hanging from the ceiling. Is he lying down?”

“Looks like it.” I remarked as the scant amount of data digitally materialized in front of me in the holographic ring. This was astonishing. At my side I had a small screen displaying Narihisago in the cockpit, I was currently the only one who could see the real him. He looked as if he were sleeping in the reclined seat, stretched out with his arms on the rests. His vitals had experienced a momentary fluctuation but had settled back to baseline swiftly enough. Remarkable that all that data came from the biochip embedded in his wrist. Everything was working perfectly.

“This is really neat.” Wakashika remarked from the ring above, when I glanced up he was taking screen shots and shifting them around his station. “It's like we're seeing through the pilot's eyes. Oh my God, what's with the neo-detective garb? Those are some pretty bizarre threads.”

Togo came up beside me studying her own tablet screen. “Sir, Getting a thought thread from him … not alarmed, but confused.”

I had to smile at the gesture of him covering his face partially. I often wonder if he knew he'd even done that so often in the past as a habit. It almost stole my breath—the first built image of him in the well. There he was, the bright-eyed man I knew from a few years ago, youthful and without the lines grief had etched into his haunted features. Even his hair was the way he had worn it. “Alright, as a matter of record each of you will be assigned as follows: Habutae, human analysis. Shiratake, places and times. Wakashika will make deductions about the murders. Togo and Kokufu with assist with macro-analysis and anything that comes up. Remember, this is a new well with a _real_ murder victim and a real serial killer. The stakes are high. Anything we see here can be critical. This is **not** a test run. So be vigilant.

Habutae called down, “Interesting, he didn't respond to your voice.”

“To the best of my knowledge he cannot hear us.”

Wakashika added, “Well, none of the test runs showed the pilots receiving feedback from outside. So it makes sense, they're immersed, cut off in the subconscious snapshot of the killer.”

“That may be,” Togo glanced at me side wise, “but we can hear him, even his thoughts.”

“Correct. In essence he's on his own in there.”

“ _What the hell is going on?_ ” He wasn't thinking that, suddenly he was talking to himself. Even his voice was more vibrant. “ _Who am I? Shit—no, I have to calm down, I have to get a grip on things. This is weird … but everything has a reason, right?”_

Shiratake scratched his head. “Why doesn't he know who he is?”

“I honestly don't know for sure. But Chief Hayaseura did tell me there would be a few quirks with the system and not to be alarmed. Maybe this is one of those.”

Habutae shrugged. “Amnesia? Huh, hope that didn't happen to the actual pilot.”

That alarmed me. What if it wasn't restricted to inside the well? What if Narihisago just got mind wiped? Oh shit! That wouldn't be good. I had to take a deep breath myself. “I don't think we'd be permitted to use this if that were the case. Let's focus on the task, please.” Come on Narihisago, settle in. You can do this. Show me you still have that edge we need.

“ _Alright, what do we have here? Mirrors. A seemingly endless field of mirrors suspended from the ceiling … uhh what ceiling? I can't even see a ceiling, it just goes on seemingly forever. This isn't even possible. And yet somehow it's still happening.”_ In the holograph he touched one and set it shifting back and forth like a pendulum. Even from our perspective the string vanished into the ether. As I suspected, he stayed there watching the cycle for a few minutes. That was Narihisago, getting caught up in the details. 

“ _Wait … what's that? Is that … someone else?”_

Some distance away from him on the holograph a figure appeared. I switched to the screen, seeing all the detail he did in the virtual world. Out of the darkness a figure sat before one of the mirrors facing it. A dark haired young woman in a simple white gown.

He jogged toward her, waving a hand in the air.  _“Hey! Miss … hello? Do you know what's going on here?”_

_**~Narihisago~** _

I couldn't believe my luck. I had found someone else in this strange endless hall of mirrors. Even if she was a fair distance away she might have more of a clue than I did what was going on. My sneakers squeaked against the smooth polished flooring as I came up behind her shoulder. Everything was reflective in here. Why? That detail bothered me—deep down in my bones I knew it was important. For some reason my calling had done nothing to stir her. I knelt down and leaned forward—to quite the shock!

I scrambled backward! Her white dress was stained a dark red. The source obvious. She stared lidlessly forward into the mirror. The entire skin of her face had been removed down to the muscle and bone. Her skull morbidly grinned back.

After the momentary shock, an eerie calmness settled over me, as though this were commonplace enough. Curiosity overcame any apprehension and I crept forward studying her missing face. It had been done with a deft hand, as if making a perfect mask of the flesh. But why?

I glimpsed the reflection and my eyes widened. The reflection! It was her face! Her actual face. Bright green eyes stared lifelessly forward out of the mirror back at me and suddenly my mouth moved of its own accord.

“Kaeru.” It was like a dam burst and flooded my brain. “I don't know this girl. But I know her name is Kaeru. And by knowing that I know I am Sakaido … I don't know my last name, but that is irrelevant. I am here for a purpose. I am the brilliant detective who must solve Kaeru's murder.” I stood firmly, fists at my side, determination in my blood. 

Now—this felt right.

_**~Momoki~** _

“Sakaido?” Wakashika called out. “Who the hell is Sakaido? You called him something else. Wait, unless Sakaido is his first name?”

“Narihisago, I addressed him by his last name. And no it's not, I've never heard Sakaido before.” My brow furrowed, this certainly was odd. “Habutae, the girl he called Kaeru is this one of the know victims?” Before he even answered I knew. I nearly gasped at the reflection in the mirror. Kiki Asukai? No—it couldn't be. This wasn't possible. Granted, she'd been missing for a long while, never had turned up. Had this Face-lifter murdered her?

“That's a negative, sir. So she could be an unknown. Or, since this is the subconscious maybe the next one?”

I shook off the shock, had to maintain focus. “Keep an eye out for indications. Shiratake, this look like any place?”

“I have been searching for amusement parks, gallery displays, museums or any places known to have an extensive use of glass. Unfortunately no matches thus far. My guess would be this is some manifestation of an emotional response that bares no resemblance to reality. We are in the subconscious where reality no longer strictly applies.”

“Regretfully what I was considering myself. This hall is huge. Hopefully he'll start exploring more of it.”

“This is strange.” Togo rubbed her chin. “His whole thought process has completely changed. It's hyper-focused.”

“Honestly not surprised.” He was an amazing detective. Come on Narihisago, you got this!

_**~Narihisago~** _

Drops of blood. A trail. I lifted my head and narrowed my gaze. It vanished deeper into the mirrored maze. Who would try to hide in a series of mirrors? Reflections were terrible for concealing things, unless one was a magician with a keen understanding of how to use them to his advantage. Had Kearu been a magician's assistant and killed in an accident?

Certainly not. No accident could have pealed off her face with edges that cleanly. That was done deliberately with a tool. I followed the droplets. Had she died before, during, or after the removal? She'd certainly seemed shocked. I doubted she would have cooperated with it.

The trail vanished into the surface of a mirror, nothing behind it or off to either side. That was weird. A few down the row I spied another figure seated before a mirror gazing into it. Another occupant of this hall? Or another victim?

“Hrm. What's going on he—urck!”

Just as I passed the mirror a shadowy hand reached out from behind and gripped my windpipe, attempting to crush it. I grabbed at the arm, trying to fend off the choke hold but it remained stubbornly and painfully in place, pressing me up against a chest and lifting my kicking feet off the ground.

The sound of an electric blade next to my ear alarmed me. Seconds later it appeared in the corner of my eye, vibrating as it moved in front of my face. The reflection of my shocked expression turning rapidly bluer from lack of air burned into my brain.

Oh fuck! I'm going to die and no one would find Kaeru's killer! I couldn't scream, but the thoughts ran rampant through my brain.

Inch my inch I watched the blade drift upward, crossing my eyes, until it touched the skin of my forehead right below the scalp. A throbbing fire ignited. I couldn't move, couldn't break free as the blood streamed into my eyes. My mouth opened, and the blood drenched fingers slipped enough that a full-throated scream tore from my lungs. The flap of detached skin fell forward as the electric blade continued on its unrelenting path downward pealing my face from my skull.

I was drowning in my own blood, blinded by the agony, and unable to break free from my assailant.

Kaeru … I'm so sorry … I wanted to solve it … I tried …

“AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhh … !”

_**~Momoki~** _

I stared in abject horror at the sight. His scream from inside the well penetrated my very core. I wasn't the only one shaken. A series of shocked curses and harsh breathing filled the room. Then … the cries within the well fell silent. In the holographic ring Sakaido's body slumped in a pool of digital blood.

What had I done?

“Momoki … ” Togo's breathy voice broke the stupor, “Uhhh it appears that our brilliant detective … has died.”

Shiratake gulped. “That never happened in the test dives. What in the hell was that?”

I stuttered, “Eject him … shit, eject him now. Please let him be ok. That shouldn't have happened.”

Togo hit the button. “Ejecting now.”

A sharp inhale over the speaker from the room below, like a swimmer gasping for air.

Thank God! “Narihisago, speak to—”

“ _Ahhhhhhh! What the fuck happened? What was that? Oh God … ahhhhhhhhhhh!”_

He wasn't listening, wasn't even hearing me. Locked in a panic, I was losing him. I watched on the screen as he scrambled out of the dimly lit cockpit like the thing was on fire and rammed himself into a huddled pile in the fetal position on the floor a fair distance away. His hands obsessed over touching his face. He kept screaming.

“This is not good! Everyone stand-by!” I hit the mute button and killed my window, opening the staircase I dashed down below the Wellside making a beeline for the chamber. I had to calm him down. Only then could I sort out what had just happened. 

Who was I kidding … I knew what happened. I had just watched my friend get brutally murdered. 


	8. Chapter 8

_**~Narihisago~** _

Screaming throbbed in my ears. I scrambled blindly, tripping and fumbling until I collided with what I presumed was a wall. My hand rode it down. I couldn't see through the stinging hot moisture in my eyes.

Tears or was that blood?

My face … God, the searing agony, the sensation of the blood pouring down my throat—I still felt it all! My hands clamped over my face—it was slick with something damp and hot dripping through my fingers. Was that blood? Everything was blurry and dark … the room was dimly lit. Where was I? What the hell was happening? I felt like a shipwreck stranded on the rocks on a moonless night in a region where I didn't know the constellations.

Through the torrent of screaming I thought I heard a voice, “Who told you to get up? You're not supposed to move unless ordered to!”

Each harsh inhale burned in my throat. Dimly, I realized the screaming was from me. But in my hysteria I was powerless to stop it. I had died … how was I screaming? How was I breathing? How was I moving? How was I aware? Was this purgatory? Was this hell? Would this terrible limbo last forever?

I huddled tighter, trying to crawl inside the wall. Who was I?

“Narihisago!”

Yes … that was my name. Akihito Narihisago.

Not a damn number.

Not Sakaido.

Narihisago.

“I told you to—”

“Yamane, please just leave the room.”

“But sir, he's dan—”

“Just leave! Close the door.”

Every breath rasped into my throat. It left in a terrified wail I now felt as I hunched on the floor clawing at my face.

A shadowy figure approached my side, I glimpsed it though the gap of my fingers. The mad panic surged anew and I fought to scramble away, trying to form words and utterly failing. I must have sounded like a wounded animal. Mentally that's all I was.

“Easy, Narihisago. It's me, it's Momoki. Please calm down.”

I doubted it was. That voice probably something concocted from my memory to torture me. This was nothing but a surreal trip … similar to the side-effects of the drugs they had thrown at me in my first months of prison revisited my memory. I'd heard him there, too, when he couldn't have been there. Oh hell—not that all over again. They'd said 'inject' … I had heard inject! Were there drugs? Had they shot me up? I couldn't deny the fact that at the moment I had no reference for what was real and what wasn't.

Fuck!

Had I said that aloud? I didn't even know. All I wanted to do was run but my legs wouldn't listen to me. Run? Run where? I couldn't even see straight!

… a buzzing of an electric blade as it scraped against my skin …

I shuddered violently and the screaming intensified.

“Narihisago. Listen to me. You're not in the dive anymore. It's just us in the cockpit chamber. You're alive. You're alright. Stop screaming.”

At those words I choked on a sob. Blinking my eyes I realized the fluid was merely tears. Hot, clear tears. “My face … ” I was shaking so badly I wasn't sure it came out right.

“Is still there. That didn't happen in reality. It didn't happen to you.” Momoki … he was forcing himself to be so calm.

Slowly, I edged my hands up. The flesh was there, damp from the sweat and tears. I had to scrub my eyes with the backs of my hands several times to clear my vision. But each time I touched the skin it was whole, intact.

From a distance, notably well out of striking range, Momoki pulled out his phone and set it on camera mode, holding it out so that it showed me my refection. The man who stared back had aged terribly. Hair grown out hanging limp and lifeless, even edged with fear the eyes seemed faded in some kind of death stasis, pale complexion etched with lines of insanity. That … was me? I lifted a hand and the image on the phone did the same. I blinked. The image did the same.

But none of it mattered. The mirrors had shown the whole. My face could still be gone.

I touched it again. Skin, whole and intact.

This didn't make sense. I had felt my lungs drowning, each breath bubbling through blood. I had felt my heart stop. “What—the—fuck—happened—to—me?”

Returning his phone to his pocket Momoki continued to keep his distance, which was fine as I kept my shoulder against the wall trying to stop trembling, the closer he got the more my instinct to bolt paralyzed me. “That event shocked us all. None of us had ever witnessed anything like it before. The images and video captures we had seen merely showed the brilliant detectives simply hunting for clues.”

I shook my head, perhaps a bit more violently than I intended. My fingers clawed at the floor. “Why couldn't I remember who I am in there? Who the hell is Sakaido?”

“Easy, calm down. We'll figure this out. The chief told me there would be some quirks with the system. That is probably one of them.”

“A quirk?” I stared at him through the top of my eyes, he took a step back. “Forgetting who I am is a quirk? Experiencing my face getting sliced off is just a quirk? Putting that rather mild, are we?”

He held his hands out protectively. “Narihisago—I am begging you to calm down. Please. Just take few breaths and let's talk about this. I am serious. Don't make a bad decision again.”

… Finger on a trigger, eyes staring down the gun sight … no going back …

No! NO! Not there! Don't go there now, not with him in the room. I've hurt enough people. No more!

I tried as much as I could to get a grip, to trust his words. Shutting my eyes I leaned forward, resting my forehead against the cool floor. That felt like a relief against my burning skin. For uncounted minutes the sound of breathing was all that filled that room. It seemed to take forever before my own cadence matched his.

“Be honest with me, are you in control?”

Slowly, I nodded, peeling up off the floor, I leaned back against the wall, my chest still burning from the earlier scream fest. I was convinced I had pulled a muscle or two between my ribs. “Sorry … that just … I can't quite … ok, that shit really freaked me out, alright?”

Momoki released a held breath. “Understandable. I was serious when I said the others were quite shocked by the sight.”

“Heh, now try feeling it.”

“What was it like?” He held up a single hand. “Not to be rude, but this is a first and we need information.”

Great, just make me recall it. I hung my head trying to fight back the welling panic. “It felt like someone sliced my face with an electric knife in the same manner they would slice a ham, if you must know.”

He cringed.

“Tsh, it's not pleasant drowning in your own blood and feeling your heart stop.”

Now he was a bit paler in the dim light. “You're joking … oh my God—you're not joking.”

“Not one bit. You said VR, that was not like any VR I had ever imagined. I swear, I _was_ Sakaido. I felt him, I ran in his body, I experienced that entire world as much as this one.”

“Keep in mind that is a construction resembling a serial killer's drive.”

My eyes opened a bit wider. It was what? I knew I should have been listening to him that other day. Still, that was inconceivable … and yet, for some reason that now made some form of distorted sense with my experience. The subconscious was an unfiltered portion of the mind unhampered by morals or ethics, it was comprised of basic needs and desires without the superego's check on what was considered … ehhh, right or wrong.

So within that id well we were seeing the core deviation of this killer's mind. And the subconscious, by its very nature, can't lie or deceive.

Which also meant—they had nowhere to hide from me.

My hand covered half of my face, the gesture felt comfortable for some strange reason I never bothered to question. “Momoki … this id well … it's from a serial killer who's still out there, right?”

He nodded. “Yes. Five prior victims by the MO. This is from a recent crime scene, the body is several days old. The current victim is still being identified, but without a face … ”

“The face is in the well. It's in the reflections in the mirrors.”

“Are you …” His eyes narrowed. “ … What did you say?”

“Shit. Just one victim is too many … trust me,” the weight just about crushed me as I held myself tight, fighting back the tears, “ … I would know.”

“Don't bring that up now.”

I shook my head. I had felt the fate that this killer's drive intended for others. Felt what he had already done. But I had lived because of where it happened. Others had suffered this unspeakable method. And more would if … I stared at the looming cockpit. “There is no excuse. No reasoning strong enough to justify this. This killer **must** be stopped no matter what.”

Silence stretched between us filled only by a rapid increase in his breathing.

I no longer mattered, who was I compared to the innocent victims of this psychopath? Within the hellscape of that machine I could face his method and come back out still breathing—regardless of what happened. It wouldn't matter how many dives it took, I would ferret out his identity and insure he never hurt anyone _**ever**_ _again_.

My knuckles flared white against my knee. I tried to summon the strength to stand, but my legs were rubbery. I bowed my head and swore. “Fuck! I have to do this—but I can't.”

He stepped between me and the machine. “I won't torture you.”

I panted each breath, wrestling with the growing panic attack, my pulse thundered in my ears. I gained nothing, paralyzed I crouched on the floor. “Don't think of it like that. There are six known victims now. If he's done it this many times, he **will** kill again. We have the chance to stop the next one, but only if we get the clues. The victims have experienced that horrific process.” I clenched my teeth. “This is the price I am to pay for crossing the line. I will face death—so that no others have to.” I fixed him with a desperate glare. “Please. I can't … move. I'm begging—you have to order me to get in there.” My breathing was running away from me at the thought of going back in. “If you do that … I cannot refuse you. It's just the way I am now … ” I lowered my head, the tears welling in the corners of my eyes once more, “ … the way they made me.” Could I even be salvaged? Was I even human anymore? The silence stretched onward, was he even still here? I lifted my gaze.

Momoki's eyes trembled as hard as I did. Slowly, he stepped to the side clearing the most direct path to the cockpit. Pulling himself upright as tall as he could, Momoki took a deep breath and declared with no room in his tone for discussion, “Narihisago, get back into the cockpit right now.”

The knot in me released. It was as though everything went into autopilot. I had not made the decision, this choice was not mine … even though at my core I was frightened as all hell to go back in, I had no choice. So I pushed up from the floor, head bowed I shuffled toward the looming cockpit.

The answers were in there. The key to catching this sicko and dragging his twisted ass to justice. This was now my purpose, to face their deranged minds to spare others the dismal fate. I forced myself to slowly sit back in the chair swallowing the nerves. My eyes cast toward Momoki as he lingered by the door, worry playing in them. “Thank you.” I whispered.

His hand lingered by the door. “Are you sure you can do this?”

“No.” I sighed. “But I'm sure as hell not going to give up until I solve this thing.” Even if I have to die a thousand times, I will root out this killer.

I'm not sure what I was expecting from him, but it wasn't the sorrow in his eyes. “Alright.” He turned away. “Standby for the next dive.”

The door opened and closed behind him. I sat uneasily in the chair staring up at the screen with the moniker blazing on it. Face-lifter. Yeah, they got that one right. Son of a bitch, what drove a man to doing this—more than once?

_**~Momoki~** _

As I climbed the staircase I heard their chatter, that answered my question. I had calmed down our pilot, but now I had to deal with the team. The moment I appeared in the Wellside I was assaulted by a barrage of questions, none of which I could make out let alone answer.

Holding up my hands I called out, “Quiet! One at a time please.”

Wakashika leaned over the railing. “We couldn't hear a thing, is the pilot ok?”

That was a rather loaded answer. And to be perfectly honest, I didn't want to give the full one. “Narihisago was blindsided by that. No one knew something like that could happen. It took him a few moments to get his head back in the game.”

“Wait … so after that he's ready to dive again?”

I nodded.

“Really? Imagine the balls on a guy willing to actually gruesomely die in a simulated event more than once. Shit, I like playing realistic games—but I'm tellin' yeah, I'd be changing my pants after that.”

I noted all around me the raised eyebrows. Even Togo couldn't hide that.

“Sir,” she glanced down at the tablet, “his vitals are still elevated.”

“I am aware of that. But we have a few minutes up here before we reset. He's on standby.”

Shiratake scratched his head. “I can't believe none of us saw something like this. We talked about it while you were down there. None of the test dives were violent at all.”

“In truth,” Habutae tapped a finger on his chin, “it shouldn't be surprising. We are talking about the drive of serial killers.”

A rare voice came from behind me, Kokufu stared at his tablet. “I think Shiratake is referring to how odd it is that we weren't _shown_ that side of things. As though there was concern we would walk away from this project. But once under an NDA we'd be less likely to break ranks.”

That actually made a bit of sense. Who would have volunteered to do this if they knew what they'd be seeing? The demonstrations really had looked like some puzzle solving video game. What we just saw looked like an insert into a horror film without the preamble. No wonder Narihisago had lost his shit temporarily. Honestly thinking about it, he had taken things remarkably well.

Maybe a little too well. I hadn't liked the expression in his eyes. I couldn't even describe it. A strange resolve similar to his obsession from before—but grimmer. It disturbed me that he was clearly paralyzed until I commanded him. How had my words cut through that? Why had he wanted to go through this again? It didn't make sense … unless … his old obsessive nature.

Was he still there? Only one way to find out.

Giving everything a once over, it all looked good. Narihisago's heart rate and respiration were close to normal now. I brought but up the visual, and he was just laying there focused on the screen. Switching on the speaker system I called out, “Narihisago, you alright to go back in?”

“ _As I'll ever be.”_ His voice had settled back into that flat tone, such a contrast from the fear laden shrieks from before. 

“Alright team.” As I looked around, they seemed a bit uncertain but as I locked eyes with each of them they nodded back to me, steeling themselves. “The last run was cut short. It's ok. We're working the bugs out of the system. Togo, be prepared to eject at the slightest sign of a threat. If we can prevent him from dying that would be ideal. Everyone else, you know your roles—concentrate on the clues. Let's catch this killer. Inject him!”

I turned to face the holographic well. In a short period of time, Narihisago's digital avatar formed, the same as last time. How much would things repeat themselves, I wondered once again as his thoughts grappled with the amnesia.

That was a rather odd effect of this process. Wouldn't the ability to accumulate knowledge make more sense?

“ _Kaeru!”_

My head snapped to the screen capture. It was her again! The same as before. Kiki Asukai, I swore that was a younger version of her! But why? How? Narihisago had never met her, that I knew of. I found her after he'd been secured.

“ _I don't know her, but I know her name. And by knowing that I know my name is Sakaido.”_

I held my breath. So, this was a constant of the system? Sakaido?

“ _Everything has a purpose here, even me. I have a role to play—I am the brilliant detective. I am here to solve Kaeru's murder.”_

Alright then … Sakaido, show us what you got.


	9. Chapter 9

_ **Chapter 9** _

_**~Hayaseura~** _

The sound of the screaming filled my office. Now I was quite content that I opted for the extra soundproofing. After all, one never knew what would be discussed in here and if no one came running to pound on my door after _that_ ruckus—well then, it was quite sufficient.

Seated at my desk I watched the dive play out on my live feed from the Wellside. The footage from the id well, the shocked expressions of the staff, the thrilling moment that Sakaido met the electric knife.

Certainly an alarming perspective. The moment they ejected him the screams became reality. Fascinating. At least he fully regained consciousness instantaneously. That is not something I could say for all the test subjects. Luckily they were unhinged enough that no one believed a word out of them, even when it was true. That was the benefit of utilizing prisoners, no one gave a single thought to them. A good handful of them were never the same again.

In truth, no one who had crossed with this unique world were. Not the deviant little sickos I had teased into the dreams and watched their eyes open. They were infants playing with a toy. They were becoming a liability. A threat to my cause.

Folding my hands I smiled as Momoki raced down the stairs, all the more reason it was time to launch this organization. Time to clean up the mess before I lost control of another one of them.

That was, if I even could. In another window on my screen Narihisago huddled in a wreck on the floor. What a shame if I had broken the best candidate for our pilot on this first dive.

What was this? He's getting up? Curious. Momoki ordered him and he got up?

Aha, that's it! How wonderful are the side-effects of institutionalizing. Well, if commands are all it would take for that boy, that would certainly make things easier. Perhaps the second dive will prove longer and secure my plan. If this worked, I would have to stagger the cases among regular ones, don't want anyone picking up on a pattern too soon.

I poured a splash of scotch whiskey, a taste I had acquired on a trip to America, and lifted my glass to the screen before taking a drink. “To your success, Sakaido.”

_**~Narihisago~** _

“I am here to solve Kaeru's murder.” Those words came unbidden to my mouth, but they felt so right. And this was the oddest thing that I had seen.

“How is this trick working?” I leaned in closer to the mirror staring at her flawless reflection. There she sat in a white dress, a typical kitchen knife on the floor beside her. Her green eyes staring vacantly. Outside the mirror I ran my hand beside her. There was no knife where the reflection showed one, nothing for me to grab and yet I should have been touching it by the image. Her body was drenched in her own blood, the full face peeled right off leaving behind the muscles and tendons. It was unreal.

But how was the blade only in the reflection?

Undoubtedly the blood loss would have killed her, if not the shock of the removal. The work had been skillfully done, as if well practiced. Was the murderer in some profession that allowed it? That would explain it. A butcher, a surgeon, even a taxidermist. At the very least the skin had been removed either before death or shortly after. The blood volume attested to that.

Leaning closer it didn't look like the blade in the mirror would have worked for this. It was too wide. These cuts were from a thinner serrated blade, not only that—I noted the slightly uneven edges to the wound. “So she had struggled. She'd been alive.”

That unsettled me even more.

As I mused that and looked up I caught someone else in the rows of mirrors. Cutting through them I kept my mouth shut. Was this the murderer? Another victim? Hastily I made my way toward the man kneeling in front of the pane of glass.

Just like Kaeru, the flesh of his face had been completely removed, his button up shirt slick with blood. The rictus grin of his skeleton displayed to the mirror. In the reflection I saw him in the flesh, as if frozen in some photo. A young man in a shirt with a tie, staring unblinking at himself.

I touched his neck while looking at the reflection. I don't know why, but it seemed odd. He looked alive in the mirror. But my finger contacted cold, hard corpse.

“Sorry pal, but it's over for you too.”

_**~Momoki~** _

“Running facial recognition.” Habutae called out from the circle above.

I stared at the screen capture. We'd had a number of victims with this case according to the police reports. However identification had proven difficult to pin down. Fingerprints not in the system, and without the facial features … their uhh, missing skin … in some cases the bodies had remained anonymous.

“Do you think stripping the identification was the whole idea?” Wakashika mused. “I mean, it does make sense as an MO. Remove what society uses the most to recognize someone so he wouldn't get caught.”

“It's possible.” I watched and fought the urge to cringe as Sakaido touched the body taking a pulse. Yeah, that was Narihisago in there alright. Without hesitation, in the next moment he was riffling through the pockets looking for a wallet or an id card, something. To no avail. Sitting back, he covered half his face in contemplation. “However I have a feeling this runs deeper than that. Especially if he is carrying this out while they're alive. Since none of the victims were ever found before rotting destroyed evidence so much in this case was just wild theories.”

Togo cocked her head. “That does seem to be Sakaido's impression. And he is right. According to the coroners' reports there were possible signs of a struggle on every victim.”

That was disturbing. Just imagining someone doing that … my eyes closed as the memory of the previous dive hit me. Oh God.

“Shiratake, any places or times?”

He was sifting through his screenshots. “It's a hall of mirrors, sir. No sign of a natural light source to gauge time passage. Currently all I can say is that the mirrors are of a randomized assortment of designs from various eras. Some are antiques, others more modern. No current pattern with the two notable ones. Kaeru's mirror is an antique framed one from the late seventeenth century. Our John Doe is an art deco frame.”

Wakashika pushed the screen shots around. “Maybe he was an art dealer. But why aren't they paintings then? Why mirrors? Why the different frames?”

So many questions and not a single one of them reached Narihisago's ears for him to be able to answer. Down in the cockpit he lay in the machine, a slight furrow to his brow, but for the images of the well Narihisago could have been taking a nap. On the screen beside that feed Sakaido stood back and stared at the image in the mirror again, at the face of the victim.

“ _Why remove the face like a mask? What would be the point? Unless the murderer is wearing it.”_

Habutae gasped at that prospect. “Wow, that would be—oh! We got a match! Hisao Kanemoto. Reported missing about four months ago. Cross referencing his measurements with the known victims.” There was a short pause. “Confirmed match. Looks like he was the second body recovered. Well, we have closure there at least. Damn.”

“Imagine that,” remarked Wakashika, “learning that your loved one died by a screenshot.”

“Until we recover the missing parts of the victims … ” I had to stop, that reminded me all too much of my first case alongside Narihisago—the Stitcher. All those people who had been the subject of a deranged mad scientist's scheme. My stomach churned at the memory of the vile dumping pit. I forced down the sudden urge to vomit from the recalled odor of rotten flesh in stagnant water.

The pieces. I shook my head. How could this possibly work? Sakaido wasn't running around in the real world? How could we possibly find where this madman was hiding in a hall of imaginary mirrors? This was an inconceivable task.


	10. Chapter 10

_**~Momoki~** _

“ _Aaaaaaaccckkkk!”_

Togo winced at her tablet. “Sakaido has died … again. Dive run time twelve minutes and thirty-three seconds.”

I rested my forehead in my hand and sighed, “Extract him.” So much for saving him the agony. I had to be honest, this shit happened so damn fast I doubted we'd ever get quick enough to pull him before it hit.

A moment later we were rewarded with his gasp over the speaker, Narihisago leaned forward in the cockpit, panting each breath. At least he wasn't screaming like the first time.

Out of the corner of my eye I watched Wakashika shifting his screen captures, comparing them side by side. “Welp, that makes this the sixth death at the exact same spot. Looks like our guy is super stuck.”

Even though he was right, I didn't want Narihisago hearing that.

Habutae shook his head. “We've got four victims … maybe … I mean, does this Kearu count? If not then we're talking three.”

This wasn't going well. As much as the dearth of new evidence was aggravating, a new concern entered my mind. Sakaido had been violently slaughtered close to two dozen times since we commenced the dives late morning. A quick glance at the vitals on Togo's tablet concerned me greatly. His core temp, heart and respiration rate were all elevated. This despite the fact he was just sitting in a chair. I disliked the rasp in each of his gasped breaths. “Narihisago, you alright?”

His hand gripped the arm of the cockpit, knuckles pronounced.  _“I'm ok.”_

That was forced. “You're lying to me.”

He whipped his head back and forth.  _“No … this is to be expected. We have to keep going … you don't have enough intel yet. Put me back in.”_

Wakashika's wide-eyed stare down in my direction could not be missed.

I took a deep breath. This call was mine. Entirely mine. We'd been at this for hours, by now it was well past dinner time. Mine wasn't the only stomach voicing a complaint. “Everyone, we're done for the day. We'll came back at this tomorrow after breakfast. Go home, eat a good meal, get a good night's rest.”

A rather pronounced thud rang through the speaker followed by a curse just over a breath.

Sorry, Narihisago. No dice. It's time for a break before this breaks you.

On the upper ring the team stretched their arms overhead and looked a bit relieved. Systematically they started to shut down their stations. 

Good. No arguments.

On my screen, however—I'd hit the mute on the cockpit chamber. Over the live feed something bothered me. Narihisago wasn't moving. The guards stood in the middle of the room, clearly ordering him, but he gripped the arms of the cockpit resolutely.

Shit, this wasn't good. Why did he have to be stubborn now? By the time the others had left, Narihisago hadn't budged. I opened the staircase and made my way down to the chamber.

A guard snapped, “Listen buddy, this isn't amusing. The director called it quits for the day.”

As I stood in the doorway I gazed at Narihisago laying back in the chair, his hands gripping the arms almost claw like. Stubborn to a fault. “Guard.” The moment he looked up at me I waved him to the door. He took my place as I entered a few steps. “Narihisago.”

“We're not done.” He stated flatly. “Come on, I'm ready.”

“It's been hours of this. You're tired.”

“I can go again.”

I sighed. “I know you  _can_ . But you shouldn't. Listen Narihisago, we noticed a few things today. One of which is how warm you're getting in the cockpit.” This was a bit worrisome, the chamber itself was rather cool. “Is that jumpsuit too hot for what you're doing?”

His eyes flicked my way, almost feverish. He wasn't ill—he was driven. And the sweat still dripped down his forehead. That meant the reading had been correct, he was overheating.

“No sense in getting heatstroke. Why don't you roll the sleeves up?”

Firmly he shook his head. “That isn't allowed … not permitted to even unbutton a single button.”

Damn it, the conditioning. That had been a rule. “What if I told you I don't care. This isn't Fuchu prison. This is the Kura. I don't care if you roll your pant legs up as long as it keeps you from overheating.”

He blinked at me, but slowly reached forward and started to roll up the first sleeve. The motions were awkward, as if he were fighting himself to complete them.

“Good. Now you can properly cool down. I'll see if we can't figure out some alternative in the future.” I gestured toward the door. “We're done for today. So it's time for you to go get something to eat and rest in your cell.”

Instantly his eyes widened, in mid motion he snapped back to death-gripping the arms of the cockpit. “No! No!” It was the verge of hysteria.

I held my hands up. “Whoa, easy there! Calm down.”

He was panting again, his eyes locked on the screen. “We have to catch him. Have to stop him! Momoki, you haven't felt what he does. How dehumanizing it is. Every minute—”

“Narihisago—you need to rest. You're exhausted.”

“Must—run—again!”

The guard stepped up beside me, shaking his head. “I'm tellin' yah, we approach him and he just flips out.”

This was not good. I glanced at the door. “That locks, right?”

“Yessir. From the outside.”

“Fine.” I rubbed the bridge of my nose. “Bring his dinner here. Let him stay til he calms down. Don't force him out of it. It's been a long strange day and he's still getting oriented. Maybe that's all it is.”

The guard gave me a nod before exiting the room and putting in the call.

Good. Let Narihisago relax a bit. The cockpit was powered down. He couldn't do any harm here. I waved. “Goodnight Narihisago. See you in the morning.”

Tomorrow we would hit the id well again.

_**~Momoki~** _

In the morning I arrived before any of the rest of my staff, as planned. I wanted to review the police reports prior to resuming the dives in case some little detail might prove critical. But first things first—I wanted to check on Narihisago. He'd been pretty tense last night. Down into the prison floor I went heading toward the cell block when something caught my eye and I backed up … there was a guard outside the Mizuhanome cockpit chamber.

Why was there a guard outside the Mizuhanome cockpit chamber?

It wasn't the same man as last night. Though I was still learning some of the staff, this man I knew, his name was  Tahara. He tugged on the brim of his cap the moment he saw me. “Mornin' Director, sir.”

I pointed to the door. “Is he already in there?”

“Already?” Tahara shook his head. “Never left.” He shifted to the side and revealed the monitor.

Inside the room, Narihisago lay curled on his side crammed in the cockpit's seat. That did not look comfortable at all, any more comfortable than trying to sleep on a bus seat.

My jaw loosened. “Shit! He slept in there?”

“Only the past two hours. Before that he sat in the damn seat staring at the ceiling intermittently calling out to be injected. I'm tellin' yah, if I didn't have orders from the guy before me to just let him be, I would have dragged him out and ushered his ass back to his cell.”

I heaved a sigh. So much for starting off on the right foot. “Has he eaten breakfast yet?”

Tahara shook his head.

“Okay fine, we need him in there anyway. Have them bring his food here.”

“Sir, you're letting this slide?”

“For the interim, yes. I have more serious issues than an overzealous pilot.”

He blanched and looked at the door. “We have another problem.” He opened the door and the blast of foul air me knocked me backward.

Instantly I gagged on the odor. “Oh my God! Did the air filter break?”

“Nope. It's still working. But your pilot never left all night … so that means … ”

I realized with disgust that the scent was a rank mixture of sweat and piss.

Shutting the door, Tahara locked eyes with me. “Sir, what's in there is little more than an animal.”

“Don't call him that.” I couldn't say he was sane anymore, not after this revelation. Who would willingly sit in their own … unless … it struck me. Had that already been forced on him before? For the first time I began to wonder what precisely he had been subjected behind Fuchu's closed doors. I held up a hand. “I'll deal with this later. For now, just make sure he gets fed. The dives recommence in two hours. I want him ready by then. Whatever you do, please don't rile him up.”

He tugged on his cap. “Alright.”

Day two of the dives: our pilot, my previous partner, displayed some rather questionable behaviors.

It would all work out. It had to. Shit, what had a signed up for?

_**~Narihisago~** _

Mirrors, mirrors, and more mirrors. Everything is a damn reflection. Not one of these match. Was this some kind of pattern I was supposed to find? Was there a hidden key to this mess?

Odd.

Wait … what was that?

In the midst of my wandering I backtracked. I thought I saw something moving deeper in the rows. Movement meant life—not a corpse like the other two I had already stumbled across. Immediately I pressed after the figure keeping as silent as possible. After all, clearly there was a killer here somewhere.

I checked my pockets hoping for something in case I had to defend myself. Damn, I guess I really wasn't one for that sort of thing. No wallet or ID, no keys, no—anything. My pockets were all completely empty.

Well, so be it. Cautiously I moved down the row. Between two mirrors the tip of a cane stuck out. In a wider sweep I approached, cutting one row back so I could see the figure from a distance.

He was tall and thin. Dressed rather smartly in white trousers with brown leather boots, a dark red riding jacket with a top hat and a cane. Complete with a bow tie, the style looked incredibly old fashioned—why did I know that? He faced me … or rather—I held my breath at the realization.

His face was missing. But not like the others. It was a blur as if obscured.

In my shock I had gasped. His head tilted my direction. He was clearly aware of my presence.

No point in hiding. I came out from the cover of the mirror. “Hey. You know what's going on here?”

No response.

“Uhhh, did you hear me, buddy? How long have you been here?” I facepalmed with a slight smile. “Of course, how can you respond without a mouth. Oh I know, do you know sign language? Wait … do _I_ know sign language?”

Hrm, that was a good question. I stared down at my hands and watched as my fingers stumbled through a few forms, I think it was _Hello, I am Sakaido._ At least that's what I intended.

Top hat guy just observed me with his blurry features. Now that was a hard read!

Again I palmed my face. Duh, no eyes.

I turned and waved over my shoulder. “Well, you're no fun. I've got some murders to figure out. So—TCK!”

A bare arm locked around my throat cutting off my airway. I couldn't breathe. An electric blade sounded by my ear. The rapidly moving tip shining before my eyes. I struggled against the hold, thrashing and kicking to no avail.

“Aaaaaaaaaaaaaacccccccck!

**~Momoki~**

“Damn,” Wakashika blurted out, “he really sucks at this.”

However, Habutae had gone into overdrive, “That was a new element. What did he call him? The top hat guy? A living element within the well. His clothing is significant. I've seen it somewhere. But I can't quite place it. It's very dated.”

I rubbed my chin and squinted at the image. “Like an English gentlemen.”

“Exactly.”

Wakashika shook his head. “But he wasn't the one with the electric knife. Look—see, his arm has a dark red sleeve. There in the corner of the screen capture that's a black short sleeve. The murderer's arm is bare.”

“Good catch.” I had to hand it to him, I hadn't seen that. “That means we have two active elements within the well, aside from our brilliant detective.”

Shiratake mused, “Why is his face blurred out? That doesn't make sense. Maybe a future victim?”

“Not sure. This is the first time we've seen him. Let's see if he shows up again. Narihisago?”

“ _Yeah.”_ That sounded less than enthusiastic. 

“You up for another run?”

“ _Why are you wasting your time asking?”_

“Giving you a chance to recover from that.”

His sigh carried over the speaker.  _“Just do it.”_

I turned my gaze to Togo, her finger hovering over the trigger on the pad. Well, every time this element was the same, it only made sense to use it. “Inject Sakaido.”

Her eyebrow twitched before she looked down and pushed the button.

Several elements had become consistent. Sakaido, Kaeru … would this mystery man remain one of them? That had yet to be seen.


	11. Chapter 11

_**~Hayaseura~** _

The door to the Wellside opened silently on its track. Their voices carried in the flurry of activity. Marvelous. Simply marvelous! It wasn't quite the well-oiled biological machine it should have been, but it was gradually getting there. Each member finding their own special cog in the whole, at its center directing everything, Momoki.

His back was too me, he was distracted by the images in the holographic projection. Oh how I had relished the imagery from the office. But in there it lacked the … what was the word? The urgency.

Down here the air crackled with the promise of their task. Each member of the team driven by the task of sussing out our little serial killer before he could complete his next crime.

None so driven as our esteemed pilot.

My my, what a grand revelation to find that my final adjustment to him had such an effective result in his id well counterpart. Narihisago practically begged to be reinserted to his death over and over again. The depth of his insanity proved most useful. And no one was the wiser, not even my favored pawn. I offered Momoki an unseen grin of approval behind his back.

They were all caught up in the current run, no one noticed me at all lurking inside the doorway.

Kokufu pushed images around a tablet. “He hasn't noticed it yet, but off to Sakaido's left there is another body in front of a mirror, next row up.”

Wakashika groaned, “This is ridiculous. It would be so much easier if he could remember the previous runs.”

“There is a reason for that.” Momoki held up a hand, still watching the id well projections. “If the conscious and subconscious become aware of one another a wellstorm could appear.”

Very good. The boy had been listening. “However,” I added, to the immediate focus of everyone on me, “if I might add, that is impossible when the pilot is not the origin of the id well. That solely applies to the cases of a pilot diving into their own subconscious.”

“Chief,” Momoki bowed his head, “didn't expect you at the Wellside.”

I laughed softly. “No fuss needed. I am merely coming down here to see how the case is progressing.”

Wakashika leaned on the railing, “Ummm, Chief, if I may ask … why would a pilot ever dive into their own psyche? I mean, that doesn't really make a lot of sense. The particles are from the origin of an urge to kill, right?”

“The amnesia is merely a precaution built into the process just in case.”

“Still,” he looked at the other two up on the ring, “not just anyone has access to the Mizuhanome.”

My smile broadened. “That may be so, but to qualify to be a pilot one must have killed. So there is the remote possibility that an unfortunate intersect could occur depending on the cognition particle collection. We wouldn't want to lose a pilot to a mistake. If they are unaware of their true identities within the well such a possibility is negated. The security measure is important.”

A sudden blood curdling shriek carried over the speaker.

“Oh my. That did not sound encouraging.”

Togo shook her head. “Sakaido has died on the approach to the figure.”

“Extract him.” Momoki glanced up to Habutae. “Did we get even a glance at the face?”

A gasp and huffed breaths through the speaker, followed by, _“That asshole is getting on my last nerve.”_

“Stand by, Narihisago.”

“ _Uhhh, yeah, stand … sure.”_

Momoki barely flinched at the reply. Good, he was growing immune to the situation as I hoped he would. I watched and listened as Habutae punched through a few things. “I have a partial. Facial recognition is not liking it, but it's trying. Estimated runtime, five minutes.”

Momoki glanced at Togo, she held up her tablet and answered his unasked question, “Vitals are elevated, including his core temperature.”

“Answers that.” Momoki folded his arms. “We're taking five until the software finishes trying.”

“ _Momoki, I can—”_

“Not up for discussion. Sit back and take a breather. That's an order.”

A rather pronounced sigh answered. _“Fine.”_

Walking over to me, Momoki gestured back to the holographic ring. “I assure you, we will find this perp and bring him to justice.”

“Oh, I have no doubt about that. This new process is a bit tricky to figure out. But given time I have every confidence that this will become the primary homicide investigative department. Now, if you will excuse me.”

As I turned to leave I couldn't help but overhear Wakashika remarking just above his breath, “Wait … I thought we were all cops here … so the pilot's killed someone?”

_**~Narihisago~** _

“ _Wait … I thought we were all cops here … so the pilot's killed someone?”_ The question echoed over the speakers in the dimly lit cockpit chamber.

Nearly a full minute passed before Momoki's hushed voice broke the tense silence, _“Narihisago_ _ **was**_ _a father.”_

More than one hitched breath crackled in the speaker before Wakashika murmured, _“Not sure I like how you put that, Director.”_

He wasn't the only one. Those words struck me like a punch to the gut, tightening everything to the point of extreme discomfort. I struggled to force a breath as the room spun violently. I swore I heard her voice calling out to me.

That was impossible. Muku was … I leaned forward my hands caught my head before I could fall forward in a heap on the ground. It took every ounce of control not to scream out. What good would that do? It couldn't bring her back … nothing could bring my Muku back. She was gone from this world—and it was all my fault!

“ _Narihisago,”_ Momoki's voice cracked in my ears, _“you alright?”_

I took a deep breath and tried to steady my frayed nerves. I did not need this. Not now. I couldn't lose my shit in here. I needed to get back to this, back to the job. Back to finding this murderous asshole. “Yeah … yeah, just a bit of a headache.”

“ _That's not good.”_ His concern was audible. _“Maybe we should—”_

“It's **just** a headache, I'll be fine. I can tell you, hardly anything like what those victims are going through. Besides, it's probably from those blazing hot lights in the well. ”

Wakashika interrupted, _“Wait, you mean you can feel everything in the wells … even … ?”_

“Yes. Do you want a description of what it feels like to have the skin flayed off your face?”

“ _No. Nope. That's ok.”_ The pitch went up rather dramatically.

With my head still in my hands I wonder if he'd noticed his own voice raising. I wasn't about to point it out to him, after all, he still had his freedom.

There was a significant shuffling through the speaker, hasty motions before Shiratake spoke up. _“Hot lights. Director sir, the room in the id well isn't infinite. We've missed the light source. Look at this, overhead rows and rows of spot lights. Limelights to be exact. So called because when they were invented they employed a cylinder of lime to produce an intense white beam.”_

I could tell they were in different places in the room, the way the mics picked their voices up and sent them through the speakers overhead. This was quite the operation.

At length Habutae asked, _“Limelight … as in a celebrity in the limelight?”_

“ _Precisely. Often used in the theater as spots.”_

Wakashika's steps echoed across the floor, a bit of carefree cadence that didn't fit the mood of an investigation, _“Should be child's play to confirm that those are spot lights.”_

I huffed a breath, still seated on the edge of the chair staring at my feet. I was drenched in sweat, and if I was honest I was exhausted. But not a damn bit of that mattered. Not to them. Not to the murderer. Not to the victims. Child's play, he'd said? “Not from where I am sitting.”

Momoki's business tone took over, _“Narihisago, in the well can you get us a closer look at those?”_

Guess he wasn't paying attention. “I'd like to know how you expect me to do that with the amnesia once I'm in there. Sure, I have the idea in my head out here. But once this … Sakaido guy takes over my thoughts he's in control. I only remember all the dives on this side. On the other side it's all a blank slate every time. It'll happen if he decides to make it happen. In the meantime we're wasting time out here. You need more information and we'll only get it inside.”

“ _You're willing to risk another death in there?”_

“I'm trying to prevent another, more permanent one, here.” Maybe it was time I was a little more honest with him. “The one feeling I get inside there every time is that of a clock running out.”

Wakashika interjected, _“Like … stage fright?”_

I covered half my face. “Not exactly … more like standing in the wings and waiting for the cue … with a blade in hand.”

“ _Creepy.”_

Sitting back in the cockpit I had to wonder if Wakashika knew I heard that. I could reply to him … but it felt like I might make a bad situation worse.

“ _Alright, let's resume the dives. Inject Sakaido.”_

I heaved a sigh. Alright Sakaido, get your act together. Time to solve this.

_**~Momoki~** _

“Alright, that's another victim identified. Good work, Habutae.” I wanted to throw my fist in the air and celebrate, but that would hardly be professional. So instead I kept my arms crossed. Lead by example.

He kept a laser focus on the screen, mirroring my demeanor. It had taken three more dives to nail this identity down with only a fleeting glance of the lights, Sakaido clearly hadn't prioritized that. They certainly seemed to be spotlights compared to the images Shiratake had dug out of typical theaters. That was an odd detail in a representative landscape.

“Not a lot I can say. He was a third year college student. No discipline record. But this is interesting.”

“What did you find?”

He pushed a window to my screen. “He was a theater major.”

Wakashika wrapped a finger around his chin. “A theater major.”

Over the speaker, Sakaido murmured aloud, _“All the world's a stage.”_

All eyes snapped to the current dive footage.

“Wait … what is he looking at?” It was my turn to hustle in an effort for a screen grab. Sakaido stood before a large gilded mirror, no figure before it but himself. In the center a decorative molding with two masks. The classic comedy and tragedy pairing with their ribbon ties. Sakaido's gaze drifted up to the spot lights, shielding his eyes with a raised hand before looking back at his half hidden image in the glass.

“ _In a world of reflections … how can you tell … what is reality?”_


	12. Chapter 12

_ **Chapter 12** _

_**~Momoki~** _

“Sakaido has—”

“I know.” I growled, gripping my elbows I let my chin hit my chest. “Sorry, Togo, I didn't mean to snap. This is just getting frustrating.”

Kokufu walked up to the projection ring shaking his head. “We haven't gotten anything new in the last three dives. And before that it was just the glimpse of another victim. It's been a long day.”

Beside me, Togo nodded holding up her tablet. “The pilot is showing signs of exhaustion.”

A dinner break wasn't go to be enough. Would another night mean the difference between life or death? Did it matter? I was basically throwing Sakaido up against a brick wall repeatedly. What was that doing to Narihisago? I rubbed my eyebrows trying to ease the tension headache. “We're terminating the session for today. Extract Sakaido for the last time and start powering down.”

Narihisago's gasp carried through the speaker. On my screen he leaned forward in the cockpit, panting. Dripping sweat shimmered in the dim lights on his bared arms and ankles, his sleeves and pant legs rolled up. He didn't look up as he leaned forward on his elbows. That was final, he was fried even if he refused to admit it. At the moment I doubted he could catch enough breath to complain.

“Good work everyone, we'll resume tomorrow.”

Narihisago glanced up toward the camera in the cockpit room. I immediately killed the audio feed both ways. He and I would talk in a bit.

The others sighed with relief, shutting down their stations. I overheard Shiratake muttering, “Thank God, not sure I could have watched too much more of that blood sport.”

To be honest, I wasn't thrilled with that aspect either. What came across our screens was akin to murder-porn, a term I did not use lightly. And yet it made sense, we _were_ wandering inside the psyche of a killer. Why did Sakaido have to look so damn much like a younger, more vital Narihisago? That was the part I struggled against the most, watching him get brutally murdered repeatedly. On the screen he had fallen silent after an apparent shouting spree into the dead air, proving me wrong—he did catch enough breath to object. Now he glared at the camera. Of course he would notice that I'd muted the com.

The team from the upper ring walked down the stairs in silence, not even idle chatter. Kokufu waved to me with a bleary-eyed stare, “Good night, Director.”

I nodded realizing even as he left that I was not alone. Togo lingered behind me. I didn't even turn to her as I gathered my fraying wits. “We're finished for today. You are dismissed, too.”

“I know, sir.” She came to my side looking back at the now darkened projector. “I just rather noticed something and I figured this would be better without the others around. It's concerning the dives. Every time you have me inject or eject Sakaido … and I mean this as no insult, you flinch.”

I met her eyes, blinking slowly. Did I? Was I really? They didn't know my connection to Narihisago, and I had no idea how to even begin on that subject. Was it visible to more than just her? I cleared my throat and forced a weary smile. “I'm still getting used to the whole idea of the system. And to be honest, I didn't get a lot of sleep last night.” That wasn't a lie. After the first day's revelation of what this was really going to be like I had a hard time unwinding. “I'll be alright once we start making headway.”

Her gaze narrowed, remaining fixed a bit longer than I was comfortable with as I realized she was trying to read me. At length she shook her head. “If you say so. You are the director.” When I did nothing more than stand there awkwardly she bowed her head. “See you tomorrow.” The clack of her heels against the floor marked her passage down the corridor.

I opened the stairwell in the floor and took a deep breath. This was going to be hard. I already knew he would be upset with me. The guard outside the door plugging his ears warned me how right I was. I sighed and opened the door.

He sat on the edge of the cockpit, bags under his eyes, his white jumpsuit so drenched with sweat it clung to him marking every one of his harsh breaths. He had to be exhausted.

I took a couple steps into the chamber and was forced to halt by the odor, this morning had been bad, now it was worse. I lowered my head into my coffee scented hand simply to have something of air filter as it struck me. Though the Wellside staff had been given several bathroom breaks, I had never explicitly instructed the guard to take Narihisago for one. That on top of the sweating had made things infinitely worse. Bodily functions did not cease just because his consciousness entered the id well.

After a few more breaths he lifted his bowed head and glared me, one hand curling into a fist. “What are you doing down here?” he snarled. “Get back up there. We haven't solved this yet.”

“Narihisago.” How to keep my hand in front of my face and seem natural? This was awkward. “The others have been dismissed for the day.”

“Why?” His eyes … they were positively feverish. I had seen that expression before. My chest tightened as I remembered where, his expression when he had stood over the Challenger's bleeding corpse. Sheer unyielding determination. Now was not the time I wanted to see that.

I held up a hand. “Because we weren't getting any new information from the dives.”

His hands gripped the armrests in a clawing motion. “And we won't if we don't dive again!”

“You're obsessed with this. It's a new process, we need to take this easy.”

He leaned forward, reminding me of a vulture as his eyes widened. “We need to stop this piece of shit!”

“Narihisago.” I spoke softly, trying to keep the energy lower.

“People are dying. And the more we piss around in the process the more they suffer.”

“Narihisago.”

He didn't even stop for a breath. “This is our chance to bring him to justice, all we have to do is keep going. So what the fuck are you waiting for?”

Despite my efforts to keep the energy low, his frenzy dragged me along. My hands snapped into fists. “Narihisago! Shut up!”

That command did it. His eyes dashed to the floor. As he sat on the edge of the cockpit he trembled with pent up frustration, or maybe that was exhaustion. I wasn't going to ask. At least he was silent now.

“I need you to listen to me. Whether or not you like it, you are a human being with limitations. You can't dive every second of the day.”

He cringed, his lip curling up.

That struck me like a blow, the words escaped me in a hushed voice. “You would … ”

His head lowered, and turned slightly away.

“Dear God, you'd do it if you could. Narihisago,” every time I said his name he flinched, his head lowering further, “this isn't worth your life.”

His knuckles flared against the grip on the armrests, the trembling increased. He looked as if he were about to drop, only sheer will-power held him up.

Pity tore at my heart, what good would that do? I had to consider what was possible. For the moment I had to save him from himself. “We're done for today. End of discussion. The crew needs a break. I need a break. And you most certainly need a break. So for now, go and eat dinner, and get a good night's rest in your cell.”

His gaze shot up at me. I had not prepared for that wild-eyed stare. I could not even put my finger on it. Was that fear? Dread? His anxiety, already running high, just turned the volume up to eleven.

“I don't know what to make of you right now.” Not the best way to put it, but it was out before I could stop it. He didn't remark, just kept staring, his hands in a vice grip on the cockpit chair. “What is going on with you? Answer me.”

Flicking his eyes toward the door he swallowed. “Please … don't make me leave. I have to … have to … ”

Again? Another night in here? Was he planning on living in here? Making this his cell? This wasn't set up for one and his current condition made it abundantly clear. “You know I can't release you from you sentence. You have to go back to your cell.”

It was like I slapped him, he recoiled further into the cockpit, clinging to it as if the contact were lost the whole machine might vanish in a blink. “Don't make me … ”

There had to be something that could get him to move. I straightened up and stamped my foot. “If you don't get up I'll go to your cell and take back the photos you begged me for.”

He stiffened, but did not move. “I … I can't … please … don't. I just … I have to do this.”

Oh shit, that had been the wrong tactic. I could have pulled out half my hair, but it was obvious just looking at him. This was no act of defiance. Narihisago clung to the cockpit like a survivor of a shipwreck to the last piece of floating debris. If I took that from him now I feared he would sink and I would never see him again. This sad wreck of a man.

Slowly I turned and walked out of the room, closing the door behind me. The guard flicked his eyes to the door and back to me. “Leave him there again tonight. Dinner and breakfast brought there. And for God's sake, bring him a change of clothes.”

“Are you sure, Director?”

My shoulders fell. “No choice. If that's where he wants to sleep, as uncomfortable as it has to be, I will let it go rather than add to the stress. This is his decision.”

He blinked for a moment. “Sir, you do realize he is an inmate here. He isn't in control.”

I straightened myself up and stared down at him. “He is also Kura's pilot. You would be wise to remember that.”

“Yes sir. I'll a … I'll make those arrangements then.”

That resonated in my mind as I trudged up the steps into the Wellside room. Staring at the darkened projection ring that for hours on end sported the images of Sakaido laying it all on the line I heaved a sigh. Narihisago wasn't in control. He wasn't in control of himself. Why was I letting him hold so much sway?

Shit.

My footsteps echoed through the empty room. I had spent everything, I had nothing left to explore this question.


End file.
